


The Crew of Light

by Jqck



Category: Banana Bus Squad, H2OVanoss - Fandom, Vanlirious
Genre: Angst, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Mourning, Sadness, superpower au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-06-13 10:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 80,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15362295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jqck/pseuds/Jqck
Summary: Evan was back to the place where his demons lived. It was here where he had friends. It was here where people died. It was here where he was normal, when he didn't have any powers and was just a young boy who loved swings. And if he had a choice, he wouldn't go back here.But maybe. Maybe, there was a reason. Maybe Evan had to go through the haunted past and awful memories for him to be able to know why this place pulled him back in. . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I remember the beautiful, beautiful feeling when I first posted this on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy reading this! Please do let me know what you think about this chapter! <3

On his first Saturday morning in the town, Evan met the sun at their backyard, arms spread like branches, beating like wings, the cape on his back dancing with every movement. He was jumping up and down, too, with that uncontainable excitement. It was the first time he was going to go to a playground since they moved here. His mother promised that there would be a slide, a seesaw, and swings. He loved swings!

On the way there, with his mother’s hand gripping his, Evan held an orange pail, and clattering inside was a white plastic shovel. He would dig treasures there—he promised himself. He would make his parents rich, and he would share gold with the homeless man who was playing a guitar a block away from where he lived.

But when they arrived at the playground, his heart sunk, the smile on his face wobbling. There were too many kids. The slide had missing steps, so children clambered up the slide itself. Each swing catered to at least three children, the chains groaning with the impossible weight. There was no seesaw, only a broken plank tossed below the monkey bars that were so rusty that Evan wouldn’t even dare sneeze its way. And the ground was cemented…

Evan looked at his pail and shovel, then at the place, then back at his toys. They were at the wrong place, right? He peered up to his mother, but it dawned on him that she already left him and was already making conversations with another adult.

Evan, who was happy just a few moments ago, was scared and lonely. All these kids, they were a little bit older and bigger than him. They would only stomp on his Batman shoes, just like what his classmates did. These kids would only shove his face onto the pavement just to prove that wearing a cape didn’t mean he was a superhero.

With a sad heart, Evan untangled the ribbon of his cape and let it cascade down his back to the floor. He turned to walk back home on the verge of tears. But the moment he faced the street, he noticed a big mango tree to his left, not far from the playground itself but also not too near to catch the children’s attention right away. It looked so sturdy, the roots a thick and messy knot, the branches holding leaves at the ends as if they were waving pompoms of vibrant green. It was tall, too! Taller than the kids around, taller than the slide itself. If Evan could only climb to its highest branch, then he would not be scared anymore. He would be just as happy as if he was on a swing.

“Don’t just stare. Catch!” A hand grabbed his wrist and Evan found himself running towards the tree. The kid dragging him had a brown hair cropped closed to the scalp, a band-aid peeling off on the bridge of his nose. He was a full head taller than Evan, and most probably older, too. When they stopped at the base of the tree on the next block, the kid turned to him, sun rays hitting his left eye, producing a temporary red pupil. “Do you know how to catch?” A heavy accent clipped the kid’s every syllable.

“Uhm. Catch what?” Evan uttered.

“The mangoes, you silly!” And as a proof, he veered up the tree. “Hey! Two, please!” Evan craned his neck to look, too, but because of the lush leaves and thick set of fruits, he could not see anything beyond. With a confused look, Evan glanced at the other kid. “Are you sure there is someone up there?”

The kid grinned at Evan. “Watch.”

Like a magic, there was shuffling above, scratching of leaves against leaves, and then a fruit dropped straight to Evan. He raised his hands and covered his head before it hit him, but the fruit didn’t come. Slowly, he lowered his arms and saw the kid’s arm outstretched above Evan’s head, clutching a mango. On his other hand was another one.

“Thank you! When are you going to come down?” The kid yelled above. No one spoke, though, nor moved. With a shrug, the kid handed Evan the mango and walked away, using his teeth to peel his fruit. With his longest nail, Evan tried to pinch the skin of his mango, hoping it could do the trick. He didn’t want to be messy with the fruit because his mother would be mad at him. When Evan drifted a helpless stare at the kid, he realized that he was already walking away.

Evan stared at his mango, and lowered it.

“Come on, he’s not going to come down.” The kid glanced back at Evan with mango smears all over his mouth.

Evan ran to the kid until he matched his pacing. “Who’s up there?”

“A kid.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know him. Haven’t seen him yet.”

“How did you know he’s a kid?”

“Because mangoes always fall when I ask.”

“Can’t adults do that?”

“Adults don’t want kids ordering them around.”

“Oh.”

The kid stopped eating and stared down at Evan. “My name is Brian. Are you new here?”

Evan nodded. “My name is Evan. I’m almost eight.”

Brian taught Evan how to peel mangoes using his teeth. The taste of the skin of the fruit was awfully bitter, and Brian kept on laughing on his sour facial expression. The first fruit he tried to peel slipped from his fingers and rolled onto the ground before he could even bite the surface. The two of them returned to the tree, and when Brian yelled, another fruit dropped. Evan tried again, this time, he was able to peel a strip out of it, but in the end, it just fell onto the ground. Three more fruits were wasted. The fourth one was the charm. The moment the exposed fruit was big enough, Evan took a bite and the sweet flavor exploded on his tongue, the yellow juice spilling from his mouth to his chin, making all the bitterness and sadness of the day fade away.

“It’s so tasty!” He exclaimed, and Brian grinned from ear to ear.

That was his first Saturday in Stanlow, and he went home looking forward to the next one.

The next one was different. It was cloudy, yet it only invited more kids in the playground. This time, Evan brought two bottles of water because last time he and Brian ate mangoes, they almost choked with the furry texture inside. But Evan didn’t see Brian by the tree. In his stead was another kid, staring up the leaves. He wore a white helmet, his stance suggesting he would battle the tree by the way his fists were up his face. When Evan inched closer, his heart beating so loud, the kid faced him.

“Do you think I’m insane, too?!”

“No! No.” Evan waved his hand in front of him. “I was just going to ask if you saw a kid. His name is Brian. He is my friend.”

“No!” The kid kicked the tree, and the tree shook but did not even shed a leaf. “I am Brian’s friend. No one else is Brian’s friend but me!” He then glared up the tree. “Better watch when you’ll get down, because once I spot you, I’m going to beat you up!”

Evan stepped back, because the kid was reeking of anger. He didn’t want to make the kid mad, but it already appeared as if he did. I bruise easily—that was Evan’s first thought and his mom would get mad at him for not fighting back. In every fight he involved into, Evan chose to be the one kicked. He didn’t want anyone to be sad because of him.

That was why when the kid marched towards him, Evan stammered an apology for bothering him, already stepping back. “I’m-I’m sorry!”

For the second time in this playground, Evan threw his arms over his face to block a punch. But the kid strode past him and towards a fallen bike. When he primed the pedals the way he wanted them, the kid tightened the straps of his white helmet on his head. “Can you run as fast as I bike?”

Evan was startled, but he was lowering his arms to his side in confusion. “I-I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s find out. I want to find Brian fast.”

It was the first time in Evan’s life that he learned he could run fast! Not just because he wanted to find a friend but because the kid dared him to a race. It was unfair because he was still on the bike, while Evan was on his feet.

In the end, he had tons of fun! His favorite part was when his legs were screaming that numbness overtook them, and when he could not feel the ground, it felt like he was flying! It was a close match and Evan almost beat the kid, but the latter knew that he was being unfair so when Evan expected he would get punched for almost winning, the helmet boy only demanded a rematch next Saturday. This time without bikes. Evan accepted.

At home, Evan was scolded by his mother for ruining his shoes. The soles dangled, the laces distressed, and the stitches snapped. “While it makes me happy that you’re making friends, I still want you taking care of your things. We’re not rich, Evan.”

They weren’t. The next Saturday, he was wearing slippers. He could not run against the kid with these—he would lose. But that didn’t matter because in the morning, Brian was still nowhere in sight and the other kid, too, was not there. On a brighter side, there were not much kids that chased each other nor screamed across the place. The playground was almost empty, except from the kid under the monkey bars, reading a book. With soft footsteps, Evan arrived at the swings and settled in one. With sagged shoulders and a sigh, Evan sat on the swing, and pushed himself farther and farther, his feet pounding simultaneously on the ground hard. The wind was sharp on his face that if he closed his eyes, he would feel like flying, and normally, laughter would bubble out from his belly, to his throat, and out of his mouth. But there weren’t any today. He missed his friends. It was weird for him because two weeks ago, he was excited to try these swings out, but now, his mood didn’t lift.

“Hey! That’s our swing.”

A group of kids walked towards Evan, stomping their feet on the ground hard as if they were soldiers. The leader was tall and with a gray bandana on his forehead, almost covering his eyes, his hands crossed over his chest. Evan cowered inwardly and immediately jumped off the swing. It was not a big deal to him because he would rather stay out of trouble than be in that swing.

But the boy reading a book protested against five kids.

“That is not yours, Ryan.” The boy had a rainbow tank top on, and he put his glasses down atop the Harry Potter book he was reading. His chin was tilted high as if saying he was not afraid. Evan would like to rush to him and make him change his mind, that he should be afraid, because these were five kids and there were only two of them. But Evan didn’t want to draw attention to himself so he stayed on his spot.

“We’re here every Saturday.” The leader, Ryan, did not advance, nor his voice bore venom, but his stare was icy and eerie.

“That doesn’t make it yours.”

The group approached the kid with hostility, except Ryan who watched everything happened. Evan hastily jumped in front of them. “I’m off! I’m off! See?” And to prove that he was, he waved his arms as if it could help. It was the wrong thing to do because he got punched at his cheek. Evan shrieked and fell on the ground, a scrape on his elbow bled, tears welled up at the side of his eyes—not because of the pain but because they were now kicking the other kid. Evan stood and elbowed his way in because it was unfair—they were many kids against two! When he couldn’t squeeze his way in, he looked for his mother, but her back was to them as she was listening to music.

“Hey! What are you guys doing?!”

“Get off him!”

Two kids from the porch of a nearby house halted in stick-fighting and jumped off their fences to stop the brawl. The kid with the headset arrived first to smack everyone at the back of their head with his stick, then the other kid who had curly hair and a skin the color of the fall leaves of the Mango tree helped Evan up, and he was about to sprint to his mother to get help, but the other kids backed away and broke into a run after a few stick lashes.

The four of them breathed a sigh, except the tank top boy—he was heaving. “Thanks,” the kid shoved himself against the floor so he could sit up. “Don’t worry, it always happens.” Evan ran to him and cried on his lap.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault. If I didn’t take the swing…” Then a screeching on the pavement made them all turn to the newcomers.

“What the hell happened here?!”

“Brock, why is your nose bleeding?”

Brian and the kid last Saturday arrived on bikes, worry coloring their faces as they rushed towards the kids. “Is this Ryan’s doing?”

Brock, the bookworm, nodded as he fixed his eyeglasses from being askewed on top of his nose.

“Who are you?” Brian was pertaining to Evan’s newfound heroes.

“My name is David,” the boy with the headset began, “and this is Marcel, my cousin. We just moved here.”

Evan noticed that Marcel puffed his chest and tilted his head high when he spoke. “We ran here when we saw them beating this kid. We are pretty good with swords.” The one in his hand was a stick, though, but Evan did not speak that aloud.

Brock stood, slowly at first because he had wounds on both knees. “How did you know that we’re being beaten up?”

The two drifted their gaze to the mango tree, and as if the person above heard, six mangoes fell, one for each kid remaining on the playground. “Did the person in the tree informed you?”

Brian shrugged and walked towards the fallen fruits. “Tyler, how are we sure it was him? He could be any kid who happens to carry mangoes on the way home and saw the fight.”

Tyler, the kid with the white helmet, did not move, did not look back to others. His eyes were only transfixed to the tree. “Brian, you’re a genius.”

“I still don’t know math, Tyler!”

All of them headed towards the tree, forming a semi-circle at the base, all looking up, waiting for someone to drop on the ground or maybe thinking silent words of gratefulness—Evan didn’t have an idea. 

They all ate their mangoes down there, laughing when Brian and Tyler debated who ran faster. Marcel, Brock, and David would laugh even more when they both raced Evan, because Evan always won, even he was only wearing slippers. Although without a word, a giggle, nor a wheeze, he knew that the boy in the tree were enjoying their company, too. The leaves would fall whenever a joke was cracked.

Evan was so grateful to be in this neighborhood.

The seven of them always met there on Saturdays. Sometimes, they went to Marcel’s and David’s home first, but they would make sure they would still hangout at the base of the tree.

Eventually, Evan’s mom met Marcel’s, and since their home was right at the front of the playground, Evan was left with his friends every morning. His mom would do errands and would return in the afternoon. It only went better and better for months, until David’s 8th birthday.

It was Friday, and they were invited to play video games all night. That was Christmas to Evan because he had never played an Xbox or a Playstation before. He only heard games from his classmates like Call of Duty and GTA, but he had no idea what they were. David had no visitors but them—it had been his request as long as he had cakes and chocolates and gifts.

But when midnight arrived and David’s parents were asleep, they all snuck to the playground with a telescope. The night was full of stars that it was impossible not to stare. When his friends took turn to peer at the telescope, Evan strained his neck and contented himself with what his bare eyes saw. In fact, it seemed like he didn’t want the telescope, because he would remember what this night looked like with a closer look. And he would not have a chance to have that sight scene again. It would break his heart to not see, especially if all he wanted to do was that—to see.

Then a voice, “Liking the view so far?”

They all turned. They all stepped back. It was Ryan and four others, but this time they had baseball bats. Evan and his friends had nothing but a telescope, and it couldn’t be used in a fight because it was expensive. 

“I didn’t forget, little kid.” Ryan looked down at Evan with piercing eyes. To the rescue were Tyler and Brian, jumping at the front of him.

“Go home, Ryan. Your mommy is crying because you’re not on the bed.”

“Whose parents would cry when tonight is over, Tyler?”

A pale boy, tall and and blonde, grabbed Brian while Tyler was busy with the conversation. Evan gasped, and so did everyone. Marcel and David were already preparing for a brawl when Brian’s capturer held a knife to his friend’s stomach. It was too much for Evan, because tonight, someone would get really really hurt, and he could not afford for it to be one of his friends.

He didn’t move, though; no one did. They all knew that if Ryan didn’t like their actions, Brian would suffer. And Evan saw terror on Brian’s face—it was the first time he expressed fright. Even Tyler seemed a statue with their situation, and all he did was clench his jaw.

“So,” Ryan began. “who wants to get beaten first?”

“You.” A voice echoed into the night. Then an overly ripe mango splattered on Ryan’s face, making him panic and rage at the same time. There was a blur of light blue in the dark, but that was it—Evan couldn’t see the face of their savior in the middle of the night. All he knew was that Brian elbowed his capturer in the gut, and then scrambled on his feet to get away and towards Evan.

When Evan looked, the knife, including its entire blade and point, was struck through a big mango.

The six of them, once they got Brian to stand on their side, inched backwards, away from the other kids. Then the blue blur stopped right in front of Tyler and Brian, facing the bad kids. It was a boy sporting a blue hoodie, mangoes gripped by both fists. Because Tyler and Brian were tall, Evan had to peek between them to have a good look of the other kid: he had black hair, freckles across his nose, and a height that reached Evan’s ear.

Then the boy turned to him. His blue eyes were angry, but when he saw Evan, the glare melted into concern. His eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Are you okay, Evan?”

Before Evan could nod, Ryan screamed at the top of his lungs. “You are going to pay for this!” He screeched as he was wiping the last smudge of mango on his face.

It was the cue. They all ran to different directions.

But something else happened. Something that none of them ever wanted. Something that changed everyone’s life. There was a lightning that struck at the middle of the playground, a sound that could only be a roar of a giant rumbled the ground. And Evan was burning alive. He remembered screaming. He remembered others screaming and the smell of burning flesh.

Until all senses deserted him. The last one was his eyesight.

One moment, everything was white across his vision. Then blue. Then black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting for this chapter! I have included a special character in this. Watch out for him, and let me know what you think about this! <3

A decade later:

Evan stopped on his tracks. 

It was his first sunrise in Stanlow after many years. Heavy white clouds blocked the horizon but the sun rays still made through, like a yellow paint accidentally smudged on the sky. It was a breathtaking scene, a proof that beyond the terrible life there was still something he could look forward to.

He suddenly remembered his grandmother, the glimmer in her eyes when he saw Evan, the smile she made when Evan was angry. She would hug him on the spot, peck a kiss on his forehead while his ears still hued red, saying, “I like it when you’re angry.”

“Why?” He would ask with a harsh tone.

Despite the cruel intonation, his grandmother only spoke softly, cradling him into calmness. “Because you’re always sad, my child. It is nice to see you that you still express your emotion outwardly.”

Before her last breath, she told him that he could have her property in Stanlow. Evan refused with a great conviction, thinking all the reasons he didn’t want to go back there. But it was her last wish: for Evan to have his own place where he belonged.

Evan couldn’t break it to his grandmother that he didn’t belong there—the place danced with life, normalcy, and sunny relationships towards people may they be strangers, or family, or lovers. And Evan was the darkest outskirt—no one wanted to get near him.  

She was all he had—the only person who showed him genuine kindness after that night—and she left him, too. On her deathbed, his grandma, his mother for almost twelve years, had offered him a soft pat at the cheek with her papery touch, cold yet familiar and loving. “Do not worry your heart, my child,” she had assured, “it’s not the house where you and your parents lived.

It was not—she wasn’t lying. But it was located in a place where he would need to pass by the playground and their old house when going to the only university in the town. It meant having his past greet him good morning every day. He wished it was only those, but he had more worries bigger than that.

With that thought, he forced his feet to work, to resume walking. They did, thank heavens, but his heart was just in his throat—because he knew where he was without even looking around. The familiarity of the way the sun peeked over the roofs, the way the quietness carried a rhythm that had been once comforting now full of menace. With a stiff neck and a grip tightening around the strap of his backpack, Evan did his best to look at the road, and only at the road.

Even though the playground was calling him.

Even though the rustle of the leaves of the tree sang a dirge to him.

Even though the house he last stayed in before that incident seemed like glaring at him.

When he could no longer bear it, he sprinted, eyes locked on the gray street, on its rubbles and its glittered dusts. Past his old house, past his old life. There wasn’t a step that didn’t roar in his ears. There wasn’t a heartbeat that went soft. Everything was thunderous until he was face to face with a towering gate of black spikes, his lungs out of breath. Beyond the brick wall and iron fences was one tall tower at the side of a mid-rise building stretched across the grassy yard.

Relief flooded Evan’s chest, almost making his knees buckle. It was the university. He made it. Away. Sweat dampened every inch of his face, the roots of his hair, and it was only seven in the morning.

For some weird reason, people were still rare around the school, the dew on the grass still glimmered clear, the song of the birds still not drowned by the everyday hustle. That made Evan grateful because it only meant he would have less chance of bumping into someone today. He didn’t think he was ready to be recognized. 

The kid who survived.

The kid who flee. 

The kid who has no one.

These rumors were the reason he still knew he was alive and not just an entity of his own consciousness. No one could acknowledge his existence better than all these stories, which were admittedly true. Truths that always struck him to the bone.

He had survived  _that_  night in a hospital, IVs went in his body many times than he could keep track. He remembered one time that his blood had crawled so far up the hose of an IV that he freaked out and accidentally hit someone. He felt so bad afterwards. Little did he know, there were many awful things that would happen next.

Evan was not aware he had anesthesia, so when it wore off, the pain was a detonation all over the surface of his body that he clawed the blisters, the sore spots in hopes that he could rip his skin off him. Everywhere was painful and no one could touch him where it didn’t hurt. He would screech his throat raw. Even after the time that he only felt little stings, he only whined about the pain, occupying himself with this little inconvenience, because it was easy. To not dwell with that big chasm awaiting his fall.

Until now, he hadn’t acknowledged this big hole in his heart, not fully anyway.

That little portion he allowed to shed was exposed when he was sent home after two weeks, his parents settling him in his old room. Evan was a smart boy, so with the intentional quietness his parents emitted, the saggy faces, and the sympathetic eyes, he heard a song.

A song of mourning.

He hadn’t given them the opportunity to speak—he just knew that someone didn’t make it. He cried a lot, and far from his usual upbringing, Evan became violent. He flipped tables, threw plates on walls when they forced him to eat something, scratched bathroom tiles with his fingernails, destroyed the walls of their home, stomped on the floor until it was a wreck.

Until Evan saw what was wrong with him. But his parents noticed it first, too.  _And did what they did._

He was sent to his grandma, and stayed there until she passed. Now he was back in this place, eyes always wary, shoulders always tensed.

A person bumped his shoulder on his way towards the main building, sapping him back to reality. His books tumbled from his hold and bounced on the grass. He gasped and dropped on the ground to pick them up immediately before the dews dampen and the grasses stained the pages.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I was texting someone and didn’t see you.”

Evan peered up at the person. He was a couple of inches taller, sideburns almost connected to the stubbles along the jaw, nose crooked. He wore a black leather jacket. His other eye still shone red against the light of the sunrise.

Brian. But to be more specific, Brian with a fist coming for Evan’s jaw.

“You son of a bitch!”

Evan rolled away, leaving his things on the ground. With palms up as if that could stop the man and his anger, he exclaimed, “What was that for?!”

“What was that for, you say?!” Brian was coming for him with heavy steps, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “I’ll tell you once I beat your coward ass, filthy ass, good for nothing ass down!”

When Brian lunged, Evan threw himself to the side, already weary after running from familiar places. His lungs pumped air in and out, too fast than he would have preferred. “Brian! This is not the time! We have classes!”

That only made the man’s face darker. “Classes are even more important than this?” He swung a leg high, and Evan ducked.

But not enough. Brian clipped his forehead with the sole of his shoe, and Evan stumbled backward. Blood oozed from the split skin, flowing between his eyes, at the side of his nose, tracing his non-existent laughline. Anger sizzled in his head. Brian was lucky that Evan could control himself more now when he was angry. He dropped all the defense he had and began swinging fists to Brian’s face.

Evan gritted his teeth when Brian jumped back before his jab hit his nose. “We were young! We make stupid decisions.”

“Your parents were there! They said you didn’t wanna come!” Brian stepped sideways and prepared for an uppercut while Evan’s hand was still outstretched from a missed swing. “Me and our friends mourned together! And where were you? Sulking? Because life wasn’t fair for you?! Well guess what, motherfucker?!”

This time, Evan knew what was coming for him and he didn’t evade it. He  _wanted_  it.

The first punch that landed was on his ribs, then on his face. He back stepped and tripped over his things, a painful grunt the only thing he allowed himself to mutter when a sharp thing hit his tailbone. Brian was on top of him, flinging punches to his face for every word he could muster—the more punches he received the more Evan’s anger dulled. He deserved this. And ten times more.

“Nothing. Could. Ever. Fuck. Jonathan’s. Life. Because he’s dead. And you were never there!” Knuckles met the bridge of Evan’s nose and blood splattered on the grass.

Pain exploded, on his face, on his torso, but also inside his chest. He didn’t have to ask who Jonathan was, Evan’s vision already brimming with a flash of blue across the obsidian night, the orange glow of the ruined mango fruit on Ryan’s face that seemed pale compared to the streak of ocean that glinted around the fight. Evan imagined Jonathan in that tree, biting the sleeve of his hoodie to prevent himself from laughing. He could picture the kid reaching for the nearest branch bearing sets of mangoes or how sometimes he picked the best fruits on a Friday night so he could give them to the kids playing underneath his tree the next morning. 

Evan bit his trembling lower lip. All the guilt he bottled up came free, trying to leave out of him in form of tears. He didn’t let it, and instead, he pressed his wrists against his eyes hard and he breathed heavily, deeply. To settle down his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say without his voice breaking, “I’m sorry I failed all of you.”

Brian was no longer hitting him and was lying down the ground beside Evan—both of their chest rising and falling in exhaustion. “We waited for you, man. His wake stretched into weeks just so you could see him.”

“I didn’t mean to abandon you—him, especially.” Jonathan had always come to the rescue when they were in trouble, yet Evan didn’t even see him for one last time. Just because he thought he was too hurt already for another batch of pain to come storming towards him. He was a kid, yes, but Evan grew up. Evan turned wiser, yet he hadn’t returned here for being scared that it was too late. That whatever his friends had become, they could never accept him.

It was twelve years of cowardice, of course it was too late. Of course, no one would accept him back. He earned this pain, and so much more. If he could only turn back time, he would come to the wake straight from the hospital.

Brian patted Evan’s shoulder, a soft touch from the ferocious blows he kept on throwing earlier. “Welcome back, Evan. You wanna race?”

Evan was incredibly thankful, because he was about to let out a sob, but instead, it was laughter that echoed across the campus. He accepted Brian’s hand to pull Evan up on his feet. After shoving all his books into his backpack and after Brian attended to all of the crinkles of his clothing, they made a stance. “First one to circle around the campus and to reach this spot wins. On go.”

Three

Two

One

Go!

Evan won, of course. But the victory was nothing compared to the unburdening thought that Evan had his friend back, and if he did this right, he could make it up to others. He had to.

He and Brian, after the race, went to their respective classes.

Studying in a new university was hard. But him simultaneously focusing on thinking of a way so he could be free of all the guilt and burden was harder. He did not listen to his professors all day.

In the afternoon, after being lost in the maze of the hallways of the building, Evan finally got out to meet the light of the sunset. Just like before, he faced the sun. He closed his eyes, but it was still as bright as summer under his lids. He breathed the warmth for his cold soul to devour, to store heat and fire for the coming night.

Because nights were always horrible to Evan.

He would have raised his arms high if he weren’t standing on a public place, but Evan wished he could. To know if he still loved sunsets as much as he loved sunrises. To know if this obsession with the Stanlow sun never changed over the years.

With a sigh, Evan headed to the gate. There he saw Brian waiting for him, unscathed and bruise-free. Unlike the man, Evan had a purple jaw, a bandaid on the forehead, and a black eye. He half ran, half limped towards his friend, but even afar, it was unmistakable that there was something bothering Brian with how his teeth and fists were clenched, his eyes sharp to everyone who dared look at him.

“Hey,” Evan greeted warily as he approached.

“Hey, Evan. Look, I know you want to, but you can’t meet the others.” Brian blurt out without remorse on his face, as if the race didn’t happen, and shifted his hold on his books, preparing to leave.

“Oh,” He flinched with the brutality of the statement, then his shoulders sagged. He expected this would happen, but not this fast. “Why?”

“They didn’t want to see you. It was established before. You must understand that it was not easy for them. We lost two people that night, you and Jonathan. We both buried you but in different ways. You can’t just traipse back in our lives.” While his friends lost two people that night, Evan lost five. Then he lost two more people after. He lost his grandma. This made sense. He was always meant to be alone, so he could not hurt anyone anymore.

“I understand,” he acknowledged with a little voice. 

The other man softened when he saw how it affected Evan. “Like you, they’re not ready to reopen wounds. Your returning will do that. Give them time. Give yourself time. Me? I still don’t forgive you, but I’m trying.”

Evan just stared at his friend, grateful for the effort Brian didn’t have to do.

Then he remembered something. A question he had to ask before he messed up his friendship with Brian, too. “Can I ask you one question?”

“Sure,” Brian leaned out of the wall and shrugged. 

“After that night…I mean, do you have _it_ , too?” Evan whispered, eyeing the surroundings to spot if some other else were listening.

Confusion formed on Brian’s face, wrinkles settled between his eyebrows. “What is _it_? Did you get a sickness or something after the accident?”

With a step backwards and a strong confirmation, Evan shook his head. “It’s nothing.” Brian shrugged once more and turned the other way, waving at Evan without looking back.

Then screeching of tires against concrete split the silence. A honk rang in the air, echoed through the nearby forest, scaring crows and sparrows away and deep into the sky. It seemed like the main act of the day because everything else gave way to this noise–the wind stopped with its breeze and the rustle of the trees quieted. Evan turned to the commotion and watched a school bus tore the street, the driver panicking with the steering wheel—his knuckles white, his dancing pupils so little on the wide whites, his mouth ready for a scream.

Directly in front of the bus was a little boy with a blonde hair and a red backpack crossing the street.  

Evan’s blood turned cold, the world slowing to a stop, his heart hastily beating in contrast. There was no time to think, no time to call for help—he dropped all his things and rushed to the kid. The noise of the bus’s tires and its horn drowned his pulses, but he knew they were turning from soft thuds into metal against metal hammering. His outstretched hand quickly grabbed the boy’s hand, and Evan pulled him to his body, his back against the bus, his arms caressing the boy’s head. 

The weight increased more and more and more, and then the bus hit.

Evan cried out, his vision blasted red. There was tearing in his spine, metal scraping his back, and there was a huge momentum forcing the two of them forward, the kid sinking himself more into Evan’s embrace. Despite the pain, he freed one of his arms and punched the ground—it buried into the concrete up to his wrist, serving as another stopper for the force of the bus. Pain shot up that trembled his whole body, and he knew that under this concrete, his hand was a devastation. Evan clenched his teeth. His feet broke the surface of the street with two cracked concave bowls. The creaking and groaning of metal behind him was deafening, but they were ever so slowly fading.

With patience he didn’t think he had, Evan waited in that position, protecting the kid at all cost, until there was a mechanical sigh behind them and the bus permanently stopped moving.

Evan looked back. The front of the bus was crumpled and the shape of his body was molded against the metal, outlined by blood. To confirm it all, there was a puddle of crimson underneath him, pooling on the cracked portions his feet made with his own weight.

He was breathing hard, the corners of his vision pulsing—tunneling. He had little force left in him that he was about to let himself fall onto the ground—but he felt eyes in his direction. There were people around, with awe and horror on their faces, confirming Evan’s terror.

No.

No one should know about his power. He and his grandma worked too hard to train him hide it in every movement he could possibly create. It couldn’t just all end today, right here. He would be hunted down by people, and he would be experimented on—

Brian was suddenly in front of Evan, both hands upstretched to the sky. Drips of sweat streamed down his temple, a film covering his forehead in concentration, arms trembling as if holding some invisible weight. When Evan opened his mouth to ask questions, Brian pressed an index finger against his lips and ordered strictly. “Shush. Don’t. Move.”

And then when he brought his arm down, thick fog dropped like a tapestry. It swirled everywhere, blocking Evan’s view of every people looking at him. He lied earlier, making it appear that he didn’t know what  _it_ meant, but the slight lie wasn’t enough for Evan to not acknowledge how incredible Brian’s powers.

And above all this, Evan was relieved that he was not alone and that someone else knew the feeling of hiding these powers, that he had someone to ask for when he terrified himself with his own ability. Evan didn’t know what the fog did, but he trusted Brian that he was making them not visible.

Evan felt the kid shook against him. 

“Hey, hey,” He winced when he pushed the kid a little bit farther from him so he could see if he got scratched, his voice hoarse and low when he spoke. “You’re okay.”

“Y-you are bleeding!” The boy was watching the blood on his feet ripple with every motion. “I am so sorry!”

“It’s quite alright. I’ll live,” and to try to make him calmer, Evan asked for his name.

“Connor,” the kid answered.

“Nice to meet you, Connor. My name is—”

“Evan. Your name is Evan. I know you.” the kid finally looked up at him. Evan sucked in breath because the boy was heavily reminiscent of Jonathan. Blue eyes. Freckles. Pale skin.

But Evan’s world spun violently. He passed out on the middle of the road without having the chance to clarify the confusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This note isn't necessary. I just want you guys to know that I love angst lol


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So here's the next chapter. I'm going to post the next one within this week as well! So watch out for that. Thank you for the support for this fic! I'm actually in the editing phase of Chapter 7. That being said I'll be able to post chapters despite being super busy with life. <3 I hope you guys enjoy!

“Are you well?”

There was a voice, a melodic sound with a soft intonation that rose in the end to question. It lulled him to calmness, a sound so sympathetic, so serene. A soft  _cadence_. Evan was certain he would be face to face with someone if he looked over his right shoulder. Yes, he did look, but there was nothing in this wooden room but him. What was strange was how spacious it was yet there was no furniture, nor doors, nor windows.

“I am…well,” he reluctantly answered to a direction he didn’t know, hoping the words would echo towards the other person, wherever he was. 

But his voice didn’t reverberate though.

“Are you okay, Evan?” The other person repeated, and that was what called his mind to consciousness.

He woke up with a start, his mind quick to recall the statement in fear of it fading away with his sleep. Evan winced on his bed the moment he realized whose words were those.  _Whose last words._

He shifted to his right side and hugged his pillow closer, sinking his nose deeper into the cushion, eyes half-lidded from sleep. If he were to have a sleep like that, reminding him of his past, save from the every day encounter he had to endure with the playground and his old home, how could Evan live? Was this place really where he belonged? Could Evan ever evade being guilty and…sad? He hated using that word because his grandma always described him as that, but she wouldn’t define him that way if it weren’t right, were it? 

Evan sighed and went back to lying on his back, an arm draped over his eyes.

His eyes. The last time he recalled, his sight was red. And his back were torn. There was an accident. There was a kid named Connor. Then Brian and his fog. Evan’s secret being divulged in public. 

No. 

He jumped out of the bed and immediately browsed the web looking for any articles about the accident at Stanlow University, the bright backlight of his screen temporarily blinding him. He scrolled past news including an earthquake in town yesterday, until one article hit the mark. The story published was about what happened near the university entrance lot and was a different reality from Evan’s: a tree was knocked over on the hood of the school bus. The photos uploaded were of the same vehicle that rammed Evan and Connor that afternoon but its hood was flattened by the thickest tree Evan had ever seen in his life. The hood was reduced to one-fifth of its size that no one could ever tell there was a man-shaped mold at the front. 

The article was dated two days ago.

That isn’t right. His eyebrows drew together as his mind tangled with confusion. He missed two days in school—three days, in fact, because it was already eleven in the morning today. What happened to him? Was everything included in a dream? Was everything real? What did Brian’s fog do? Why wasn’t he in some kind of a hospital? He remembered a burning pain ripping at his back—

With a rush of realization, Evan pulled his shirt over his head as he ran to the bathroom. There he inspected his back, his body, his supposed-to-be wrecked hand if they were injured. They were not. No stitches. No blood. No bandages. No wounds. No scars. “What,” he murmured as he slowly put his shirt back on, “in the world is happening?” Even the bruises and cuts he got from his brawl with Brian were beneath under smooth and undamaged skin, as if he was in a video game and all his health reset after the next day.

He decided to skip the whole day of school and put his state of mind into peace—he craved for that since his grandmother got sick and died. He brewed coffee for himself, not for him to drink but for the aroma to waft to every single corner of his home—as if veiling this house with this scent would turn it into an acceptable version of home. But it always calmed his nerves and his chaotic brain, so it became a habit. Then he switched the television on, not to watch but to give him a fake sense of companionship—it always worked.

When he laid on the sofa of the living room, he was so comfortable that drifted to sleep instantly, his body sagging deeper into the soft pads of the sofa. But it didn’t take long for the voice to invade his slumber. This time, there was nothing angelic in the tone.

“WAKE UP, EVAN!”

The concern and the urgency convinced Evan that there was a real person in the room so he forced his lids to flutter open. Greeted by the faint glow of the running television and the soft hum of the fan, Evan swept his gaze across the place and found no one.

He rubbed his palms on his face, letting his heart settle down after the scare. What was happening to him? He was set up nicely for a rest he badly needed after weeks of stress—

The plants outside shuffled, leaves rustling. Evan narrowed his eyes to the window before going for it. He drew the curtains apart—there he saw three people standing on the side of the porch where it was day.

What…

Evan rubbed sleep from his eyes and peered at his watch—almost three in the afternoon. He peered outside with a little fright singing inside him. The outside still displayed the same thing—the ground still sported two colors. The area near the house was layered with shadows that reminiscent the peak of the night and the side of the porch near the street shone a bright light. Standing on the latter were the three of four people Ryan brought with him  _that_  night—Evan could never forget them. They were a permanent stain in Evan’s memory so thick no amount of scrubbing could scour it off. He could never miss these faces even they turned into older versions of themselves. One had a white hair gathered in a bun, the next one was tall and blonde, and the last one had sunglasses of different hues.

The last person spotted him at the window then fully turned with a wave, as if they were friends in another dimension. When they locked eyes, Evan drew the curtains tight, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Evan! Come out here and talk to us.” The tone was neighborly and laced with mirth, but it was nothing in Evan’s ears but hostile.

Despite his mental alarm going off, Evan decided to meet them across the lawn. He had no choice after all—they already knew where he lived. The moment the door shut behind him, Evan was already metal, his heartbeats drumming. He slowly crossed the lawn to avoid breaking the ground and giving them a hint.

“Good day, brother,” The white-haired man greeted, “I’m Kryoz. This is Lucas. That giant is Bryce. We’re wondering if you want to hang out with us.” He said it so fast yet so monotonous.

“No,” Evan answered. “I don’t.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Why do you think?” With a growing irritation with the conversation that skirted the point, Evan struggled to keep his cool.

“Too bad, you have no choice.” Lucas, the short guy wearing sunglasses, announced.

On cue, Kryoz lunged at Evan, and Evan clenched his fists, curled his toes, turning himself into a more solid object. His stomach lurched a little bit from forcing his denseness to work that hastily, but he endured it—he had to. Just when Kryoz was about to land a jab to his jaw, his fist whistling closer, Bryce, the tall guy, exclaimed. “No, don’t touch him! You’ll wreck your hand!”

The guy stilled, his knuckles an inch away from under Evan’s chin and the strong air of the force swept Evan’s hair upward.  _So close_ , Evan thought. If he couldn’t bring others to punch him, then Evan would bring the punch to them. After he slid a foot back, Evan drew an elbow backwards like a bowstring, then he released his force. He hit Kryoz on the face, sending him spiraling onto the next block where it was day. With a heavy march, Evan turned to the other two.

Lucas back-stepped, fear evident on his face, while Bryce held his temples, his eyes dancing.

Their faces—Evan hated their faces. They reminded him of evil, and back then, he thought bullies were the worst thing that could happen, that bruised friends were Evan’s worst nightmare. Then a lightning struck. Then the evil kids gained powers. Then Jonathan died. 

He and his friends couldn’t see him get older—in their memories, Jonathan would always be the child that protected his friends and that mango tree. They would never get to know what he liked to become, what were his ambitions for his family. If these boys didn’t show up, he would be safe in his tree or in his normal home. The six of them would still get struck, but at least he didn’t have to die.

“Summon thunderclouds! Let lightning hit here!” Bryce yelled to Lucas. Evan seethed through his teeth and jumped on Bryce. There was a shriek from the other guy, and when they landed on the ground, he gasped, then groaned in pain. Evan, with uncontainable rage, raised his hand reduced in a strong fist, his lips curling into a snarl. 

But before Evan could slug his blonde oponent, a lightning split the air and hit the ground just behind him. Then another. And another. The earth vibrated. The air sizzled. Then in Evan’s eyes, everything vanished—the porch, the division of night shadows and day light, the three grown men. In their place was the playground once again, guttural screams of his friends waking the whole neighborhood, the swing set and slide melting. It was  _that_  night. The same night.

_It couldn’t be that night again,_ Evan shook his head so hard he woke up from his memories. As fast as the playground appeared was also how swift it faded and returned to his house. He released his hold from Bryce’s collar to cover both of his ears, his heart no longer a loud metal drum but only a ticking time bomb, his limbs turning from rock into soft grief and sorrow and regret. 

He doubt it was anyone’s power that brought him down to his knees, on the verge of tears. It was Evan’s mind—the strongest enemy.

Bryce was standing over Evan, a shadow crossed on his features. “You left your friends, Evan. You didn’t see Jonathan in his final resting place. They can never accept you again.”

Evan gave Bryce an incoherent bellow, but the man only smiled at him from ear to ear but his eyes never the carrier of joy.

“Come with us. We will forgive you. We will not abandon you.”

“Leave me alone!”

“We have a home for you. We have a family for you.”

“I said, leave me!”

“Here. Let me handle this.”

Then Kryoz knelt by Evan and raised his hand, sharp talons slid out, glinting at the tips of the fingers—then he swiped. Four stripes of wounds oozed with blood on Evan’s shoulder, but that was not the problem. Evan could not move, not a flick of a wrist, not a twitch of an eyelid.

“Now put him to sleep.”

Then a huge rock slammed at the side of his head.

~

This was the third time of the day that Evan woke up, and this one was his least favorite. There was a fireplace that sighed embers in front of him, emitting little heat that barely warmed him. The room shone gold from the chandelier, to the carpet, save for the sofas paralleled to each other—they were red.

His head felt like exploding, even blinking hurt like hell. His right shoulder also stung, but everything was overpowered by the sense of wariness and alarm inside his mind—for he didn’t know where he was nor what time it was. He was seated on a chair, a rope coiled around his chest, and a little shaking gained groaning protest from his wooden seat, not to mention the chafing of his skin as it rubbed against the ropes. Evan wondered if he could break it—

“Nice of you to join me.”

Even whipped his head to his right, and painful colors immediately exploded like fireworks behind his eyes. A groaned escaped his lips then he clenched his jaw in helplessness. “Easy,” the person said, “I know I’m a head-turner but let’s prioritize our well-being here.”

The man was in the same state as him: tied, seated, helpless. He was sporting a mohawk less the spikes, black sunglasses settled on the bridge of his nose so Evan couldn’t see his eyes—but he was familiar.

“Who are you?” Evan squinted his eyes in an attempt to remember. It was a frustrating feeling, to know but to not be certain. “Does this mean do you know what they can do?”

“Oh, I know. I was there when they got it, Evan. You were there, too, in fact…”

I was there…too?

“Brock.” There was no one else who would be so calm in a grave situation. The black sunglasses instead of reading ones and the mohawk threw him off, but the serenity, grace, and humor during high pressure was unmistakable. His bookworm friend. “Brock,” Evan repeated.

It was when he realized that he was breathing hard, his heart racing, for just seeing another friend in the past. Evan closed his eyes hard that there were bright spots on his vision, a shuddering breath escaping. Although relieved and overwhelmed, Evan did not let his guard down and his emotion flood him because this was not the time and place—he had to get the two of them out of here.

“Do you know exactly where we are?” He inquired.

Brock shook his head.

“Do you know why we’re here?”

“I don’t know about you. But me?” The other guy smiled bitterly, “I saw them taking you, and I tried to stop them, but got taken, too, instead.”

Disbelief occupied Evan’s face. At first, he was surprised that someone would jump into trouble for him. More specifically, he was dumbfounded that one of his friends would still risk his life for Evan despite… 

Evan realized that with Brock, sacrificing his life for him was a history—it happened the very first time they met, he with that book and Evan with his slippers. 

Then he couldn’t contain it anymore—Evan threw his head back in laughter, short wheezes punctuated by gasps. How many moments in his life did he laugh like that? The last time was when he was eight—when Tyler pranked Brian by giving the latter a stone covered in a huge mango peel. When Brian bit onto it, there was a loud scraping, and then he screamed at Tyler and shoved the same stone in his mouth. The helmet kid had been choking.

The point was, Evan was never happy after  _that_  night. He never laughed. But within three minutes of his conversation with Brock, he was given mirth and companionship—this one not false. Although, he knew that all of these would be gone once they were out of here, Evan savored the moment.

“Dammit, Brock,” a smile still glinted on Evan’s lips. “You always do this.”

“I always try saving you and fail miserably. Remember when we first met?”

“WHY ARE YOU NOISY UP THERE?”

The two men held gazes, their focus heightened to detect if there was someone actually coming or that was just a warning, their foreheads wrinkled in concentration. After a few quiet seconds, footfalls echoed along with the groans of the floor, turning louder and louder.

Evan did his best to turn his chair to face the staircase where the muffled thuds were coming, but he made sure he was looking at Brock sideways.

“Density,” Evan revealed.

“Shield,” Brock confirmed.

They nodded at each other and turned to greet the newcomer composed and guarded.

It was Kryoz in a striped top and faded jeans, hands both on hips, a sigh escaping his lungs. A purple bruise encased one of his eyes. “I know what this looks like but we’re not trying to hurt you.”

“So that ugly wound on Evan’s face is a love tap, amirite?”

The white-haired man dropped on the sofa, throwing his hands at the back of his head. “It’s different now. He was being difficult.”

“What if we’re difficult now?” Brock questioned.

“Then we’ll see.” Kryoz looked at the ceiling, his hair shuffling. “So why were you laughing, Evan? Mind sharing?”

Evan just coldly stared at the man, keeping his pulses in check. It was not yet time to turn, even though he would gladly battle the guy now.  _Just a little more minutes,_  he reminded himself.

“Come on, man, the world is already ending.”

“That is true.” Brock agreed, and to this, Evan frowned at his friend. Brock jumped into an explanation. “Oh. Since you just got here, you don’t know. There’s been earthquakes in Stanlow once in a while, but they become frequent and stronger.”

“That doesn’t mean apocalypse,” Evan countered, remembering the articles on the internet. “Maybe Mount Viers is just about to explode.”

“Exactly,” Kryoz concurred, “Apocalypse in my books. You see how little this town is? One spit of lava will wipe life out in here.”

Then a loud explosion boomed below, the walls and the floor rocking, dusts falling somewhere from the ceiling—that made Kryoz jump on his feet. 

“BROCK! BROCK!” A familiar voice called from below the stairs. There was shuffling, too, and Kryoz turned towards the direction that led below the basement.

It was the perfect distraction. “Now!” Evan yelled at Brock.

Then there was a thin film of dome that covered the two of them—the light that bounced off it was producing assorted colors and the sounds turning into dull thuds. Kryoz saw this, his eyes widening at first then squinting in anger. He slashed the dome, sparks exploded when his talons met the transparent shield. He repeated multiple times, but it wouldn’t give. 

When Evan finally reached the weight he needed, he hopped slightly—the wooden chair broke into splinters. Before Evan fell, he propped one hand on the floor, the ropes loosening around his chest. Kryoz was swearing with his attempts, but Evan would pay him no mind because Brock was as pale as snow, his lips turning into a tulip the color of a bruise.

“Brock, you look sick.”

“I’m fine,” he waved his hand to dismiss him. “That should be Tyler and the others below. We have to go down.”

Excitement and dread both rode his chest and guts, gnawing on some wits he retained from his head injury. His friends were here. Evan would actually get to see them, and it was beyond him if it was a cause for celebration or for escape. But Evan was certain on one thing: he needed to make sure they wouldn’t get hurt and would escape this place. 

He glanced at Kryoz then returned his gaze back at his friend. “You go down. Let me take care of this one.”

There was doubt on his face, but he nodded at Evan. “Hit hard.”

When Brock departed, bringing the shield with him, Evan just realized how much louder the sounds really were. There were pops of explosions, sharp shattering, and crisp sound of fire—a true pandemonium.

Kryoz was wiping his fingers and his sharp nails with the hem of his shirt, a disgusted look and a brutish scowl displayed on his face. “It’s going down now.”

The enemy charged at him, his hands extended forward, fingers and nails curled like roots and glinted under the chandelier light. Evan decreased the effect of his power so he could duck faster. For the second time for the day, he quickened the change of weight and it stirred the rush of blood in his head. When he was under Kryoz, he transferred half of his weight to his right arm—blood bursting from his nose as a result—and slammed the white-haired on the stomach. Spit and blood flew out of his mouth, eyes bulging at the strong pounce. But Evan underestimated Kryoz and his agility—the latter managed to drag a talon to the former’s side, drawing blood, inflicting pain, controlling his very body.

Immediately, Evan couldn’t move. He was still in that position: crouched, a fist pointing outward, his side pouring blood. On the other corner of the room was Kryoz who was coughing crimson, his bun coming loose. “You…little…shit,” He cursed, heaving air in between words.

After he recovered, he ran to Evan, kicking him everywhere, stomping on him like he was just a pillow. One strike at his side made him fall on his left shoulder with a soft thunk against the carpet; the kicks and smashes made Evan slid across the floor and near the stairs. He would have cried out, but he could barely breathe to do anything. The blood in his throat rose up to his mouth and flowed down his cheek.

“It. Doesn’t. Feel. Good. Huh!” The enemy swung a leg for every syllable of his sentence, and Evan’s tears freely flowed with the smarts and stings, with the blows that cracked a rib. But Kryoz was getting tired, too, his kicks becomes seldom so he tried to compensate by giving all his strength and anger. He was getting weary.

When Kryoz swung his leg backwards for momentum, Evan used all his strength to solidify his bones, his skin, and his muscles. Nausea rolled in him, but he barely had a choice and a chance for him to miss this opportunity. He was a pillar knocked over. 

When the enemy’s foot met his stomach, toes split and bones cracked. A bellow of pain competed with the screams of rage below, the crystals dangling from the chandelier shuddering. Kryoz hugged his raised knee, making him unsteady on his balance. And then he tripped on Evan’s body, sending him plummeting down the stairs.

Evan knew Kryoz was out cold at the last step of the staircase because all of a sudden, the invisible ties that held his body were cut. He choked on the amount of blood he sputtered out. Air felt like a lover as it caressed his lungs. He could now groan with every movement. When he stood up, his vision flashed white in pain and he leaned on the nearest wall, a hand pressed on the side Kryoz sliced open. 

But he did all these freely. Any kind of motion, his anew.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!”

Evan stared below—he only had a view of Kryoz crumpled body and shadows stretched into long version of human bodies. He didn’t know what was happening, but ice traversed Evan’s spine when he recognized that voice.

No. Evan could never forget the tone—the brash, hurtful threat flaming with rage. It was Tyler.

Evan dashed down, making himself as light as possible as he descended, and when the stairs became floor, it also became blood.

A sleek film of crimson covered the basement floor, and the pieces of furniture, if not toppled upside-down, were completely shredded. Brock was at a corner, pale and unconscious, and a person in green wearing a headset was kneeling over him, hands illuminating a faint blue glow. It was David with tears dangling on his lashes. By the farthest corner from Evan was Tyler, unmistakable with his boxing stance, but this time, his hands were not in fists—his palms were flashed out towards the other side of the room, waiting, threatening. 

The other group was on the other side of the room—Bryce, a bearded man, and a tall and chubby person framing Brian’s head with his muscled arm. A headlock. Blood ran cold in his veins and arteries, hair rising with the sight of these very people. This man was the kid who poked the tip of his knife on Brian’s gut—now almost the same scene was happening. Evan was watching once more.

Brian squirmed under the lock, and the hold only tightened. The reddening of his friend’s face was evidently the effect of lacking air—Brian lashed out and scratched the man. Evan was ready to spring and slug the person, but a shrill scream ripped the night.

It came from Marcel who was at the corner Evan was yet to see. The newcomer paced slowly towards the noise, only to see Lucas stepping back, back, back, until the enemy was far enough to open a good vantage point to view Marcel.

There was a knife lodged into his shoulder, blood leaking bright and fast.

An anguish cry gurgled up from Evan’s throat and he charged at Lucas with his full weight on. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Evan’s arm was pressed hard on Lucas’s neck, and if they hit the ground, once his body bounced on the floor nape first, the opponent’s head would pop off. His pulse loudened as they neared the ground, the blinding anger driving his body more solid.

Then suddenly, like a foot slamming the break, the world stopped, leaving Lucas and Evan hovering in the air. Coming from his peripheral was the bearded man, flashing his hand towards Evan and Lucas. The man had telekinesis, the control of everything with his mind, but by the look of the sweat running down his temple and the shallowing breaths, the man wasn’t having an easy time with how much Evan weighed.

It didn’t matter; Evan was not a statue—he could still punch Lucas mid-air. With one hand gripping Lucas’s collar, Evan whacked his head at the side, twice, thrice, with the other. The fifth time sent the enemy to sleep and Evan into lightheadedness.

But he was still hung into the air despite not being a threat to Lucas anymore. What Evan did, he glared at the bearded man while summoning the defeaning thuds of his pulse, louder and louder. He was as heavy as a wall, getting heavier still, and the enemy’s hands jerked. Then they trembled. Then his knees buckled, blood coming out of his eyes. The next moment, the bearded man dropped on all fours in exhaustion, sweat and blood splat drops on the floor. Evan hit the ground right away, and since he didn’t wish to abuse his body by reducing its denseness right away, he fell crashing, his feet breaking the surface of the ground, putting two indents where blood pooled.

As his pulse and breathing started calming, Evan trudged towards Marcel who was on his knees, caressing his stabbed shoulder, his skin in dangerous shade of pallor. When Evan got to him, the wounded man pushed him away. “Don’t touch me, you son of a bitch.”

Evan’s heart sunk but he did not hesitate—he slung one of Marcel’s arm over his shoulder and guided him to the corner where David was healing Brock. There was no more protest from Marcel, but Evan wished there was—his being stubborn only meant he was still okay and strong. Ever so carefully, he lowered his friend to the ground beside Brock.

“Thanks, Evan.” David wiped his bleeding nose as the glow of his hands extended to Brock and Marcel.

Without time to say anything, Evan moved to face the enemies, in a stance giving off a vibe that whoever was going to attack this corner would have to go through hell first. The bearded man was squatting, recovering from his fatigue. Brian was still on a choke hold of the chubby guy. Bryce was pressing index fingers on his temples. Lucas and Kryoz still knocked out.

And Tyler was glaring at Evan, but unlike Marcel, his tall friend seemed to understand that he needed all the help available.

“What do you people want from me?” Evan shift his attention to his capturers.

The tall blonde clucked his tongue. “We’re not going to harm you, but your friends seem to seek bloodbath. We want your power and Brock’s.”

Taking Brock was intended. But why the two of them?

“For what?” Tyler butted in, as if reading Evan’s mind. “If you don’t want people crashing in your house, then you should not kidnap their friends!”

“We know that!” Bryce snapped. “But is there any time you guys are not hostile when you see us? All you see is my blonde hair and you’ll be flinging cars towards me.”

“Just fucking tell them.” The man holding Brian told Bryce.

The blonde man nodded and explained. “Ryan said he’ll do something to the park near the beach. And we don’t know what. We don’t know when.”

Confusion danced on Tyler’s features; Evan saw it. But in the end, the former scoffed at the statement, refusing to believe any word their opponents say. “Stop busting my balls. Ryan’s dead that night. You went to his funeral.”

This was a shock to Evan. Ryan was still a kid, no matter how big of a bully he was that kind of death was horrible. However, the little burn in the middle of his chest said  _that didn’t mean he didn’t merit it_. Ryan deserved that. Jonathan didn’t. He didn’t.

“That’s all what we thought, too.” Bryce’s look turned even more serious and strict. “But I heard him. I can’t be mistaken the tone of vengeance. He still wants to kill you all.” It was safe to say that Bryce could read minds.

“Then where is he?!” Tyler’s rage was hot and loud because of the challenge. “Why don’t he come here so I can beat his face into pulp!”

“I don’t know where he is! That’s my problem.“ The man paused to draw a deep breath. Bryce was smart; he knew better than to let himself reach Tyler’s level of irritation and frustration. "But for now, I need Brock’s shield and Evan’s power to protect the amusement park.”

“What, you decide you want to be heroes now? Good luck with that. Make sure you keep being dead after the government experimented on you.” Tyler chided.

“How did you know my powers anyway?” Evan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sorry,” Brian managed to croak out. “I was thinking of it when he brushed passed me.”

There was a brief portion of a second when a sudden motion happened mid-blink, and Evan thanked all there was to thank that he saw Brian’s signal: a forefinger pointing at Tyler. When Evan looked, his tall friend had his eyes closed.

Evan closed his, too.

Then began the screaming, the shrieking, the low bellows of help. Although these voices were different from the shrill ones in his memory, Evan couldn’t bear it. The torture that resembled his and his friends’. The fire that licked skin into blisters. The smell of burning flesh. The melting of his hair. Evan suppressed a gasp by pressing his knuckles hard onto his mouth.

“That’s right, Evan!” Someone screamed—Bryce. The voice was obviously in pain, but it managed to croak emphasis on his name. “If we die today, it’s your fault. You will have more deaths that will drag you down.”

His hands flew to his ears, his chest pumping so fast.

“You’re meant to be alone. Even your parents left you. Their deaths are in your hands, Evan!” Bryce’s voice broke into a scream.

Evan’s eyes was still shut closed, but even so, hot tears raced down his cheeks. His legs gave; the splash of blood on his knees sent a cold brush that raised his hair. Behind his tightly closed lids, Evan could see the explosions of colors. The first was a blaze of white so bright he thought for one moment that his eyes were open. Then the color instantly became dulled, as if a shadow blocked the flash. Now the hue shifted into blue.

Although against Brian’s order, Evan opened his eyes. A face with blue eyes filled his sight. He had a hair so black it was darker than night itself, skin as pale as a pearl, and freckles sprinkled like sand on the bridge of his nose and below his eyes.

"Hold on, Evan. They will come for you. I promise.” He said.

Evan kept grabbing him, kept trying to catch his blue hoodie, but his fingers were just slipping through when he attempted to touch the man’s shoulder. The blue-eyed noticed that, a crestfallen look drenching his face, a heart-wrenching acceptance of what he wasn’t.

Before Evan could talk or take in what was really happening, a tangible hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him hard until Evan was on his feet. “Come on!” Tyler’s voice echoed. “Go. Go. Go.”

Evan followed him through the fog and up the stairs, looking back to see a grown-up Jonathan left at the bottom of the steps, harshly wiping a tear that escaped.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Suicide.  
> Please check in on someone today. :)
> 
> Also, first H2OVanoss bit!

They brought Evan to a house he didn’t know whose, nor if it was made of stone or wood, nor if it was as luxurious as Bryce’s house or as wobbly as Evan’s family’s when he was young. All he noticed was that the moment Tyler shoved him into the living room, Marcel was already storming towards Evan, his movement showing no limit despite being injured earlier. David slid and stopped at the front of Marcel, arms outstretched sideways.

“Get out of my way, David!” Marcel fumed, his shoulder bore no bandage nor wound, only dried blood.

On the other hand, it was David who was weak and slow, his chest puffing shallowly. With a shake of his head and a breaking voice, David held his ground, “I-I can’t heal anyone anymore with my state, so I won’t let anyone be hurt.”

“I got you, Marcel.” Suddenly, Tyler was in front of Evan. The helmeted man pressed his palm on Evan’s chest, and the time seemed to stop.

The world trembled ever so slightly. There was a low hum that reverberated at Evan’s lowest ribs, and it whirred a little bit higher and a little bit louder. Giving him a feeling as if someone was talking against his chest, it buzzed inside his body, calm and quiet—until it crawled up to his throat. Then the sound detonated into a full screech so foreign he didn’t realized that it was him who was screaming.

Because throughout the process, he wasn’t breathing and now his chest felt like it was being twisted.

There was no air, nothing to fill his lungs, nothing to course through his nose and his mouth. He dropped on the carpeted floor, choking, his sight darkening at the edges. While coughing, heaving, and gagging, Evan found himself smashing a fist on his chest, once, twice, a couple more times, for air to return or to just ease some pain. 

Because they burned—his lungs were afire.

“Tyler!” David screamed.

“Stop it!” Brock marched towards the angry man and tried to yank his hand away from Evan. But even without the touch, he continued to be without air.

“Ty-ler.” Evan’s voice pleaded.

Then all sounds became muffled, and air  _rushed_ through his nose and mouth, fast, as if it too was desperate to touch the walls of his lungs. Wheezes and coughs were a different kind of torture to his throat and chest, but they were a welcomed pain. Evan was  _gasping,_ addicted to the sudden sweet taste of oxygen.

When he recovered, he attempted to stand, but his head bumped on a barrier, making him winced and sending him back on his knees. He was under Brock’s shield, and when he peered with one of his eyes, the man was in a glaring stand-off with Tyler, the latter’s face turning grimmer the longer Brock was steady with his decision. 

David had his hands and face pressed onto the transparent wall, his image a little bit fuzzy, but concern was present in his words. “Are you okay in there, Evan?” The dull sound of his voice was comforting, and Evan nodded to confirm.

“You won’t escape, Evan.”

Beside Evan, something else materialized, a glitchy figure that was a static at first, and then it grew legs, a torso, a face, and hands that grabbed his throat. One moment he was in Brock’s shield, the next moment he was behind Tyler and Marcel was slamming Evan on a wall.

Eyes widening at the sudden force, Evan took a sharp intake of breath. An intense pain crawling up from his injured side, making him want to shrink and curl right there and then, like a leaf exposed to a flame.

“Tyler, don’t let them near!” Marcel ordered.

“On it!” Then Tyler spread his arms wide. The space in front of the man became hazy, the sharp features of Brock and Daithi getting washed out at first. The lazy swirl of smoke became evident first, then it was impossible to ignore when it became sharp and noisy. It whistled, hissed like the steam of a kettle, but this one was a whole white wall, severing the group into two.

But the wall was only a visual representation—it was Evan who was dividing them. It was the reason he was accepting this treatment. He deserved nothing less.

From the other side, Evan could only see colors moving, the green one was David and the blue one was Brock. Someone attempted to slip a hand through, but they only jerked back. The steam was hot to the touch.

“Why?” Marcel’s arms were trembling at his sides, his eyes narrowed, his face shadowed. And Evan was afraid to move, to blink, because it looked like any movement could set off Marcel’s anger. And Marcel was never angry—in fact, he made every brawl and every skirmish lighter by jesting. He made everyone happy, always making sure his friends would get along in the end. So to see him become something that wasn’t him put another pile of baggage on Evan’s already heavy chest. “Why now?!” He exclaimed. “Why not return a few years back? Why not after you checked out the hospital?! Why, Evan? I know you were a kid, but you weren’t a kid forever. You could have thought about your acts and realize your mistakes. But you didn’t think about it. And if you did, you chose that we’re not worthy friends to go back to.”

Evan felt like he was drenched in cold water, the inevitable pain of his fall into the chasm starting to breathe inside him. And his mind panicked to take over, to shut his system down, to hear but to not listen. Because it knew there was no dodging the fact that this was his fault, that this talk was long overdue, and that he would break himself as he broke his friends with his answer.

He could lie—something in him wanted to.

He spent a glimpse at Brian who was lighting a cigarette at a corner, at Tyler who was side-eyeing him, and finally at Marcel who sought for the truth, trusting Evan that his tongue would still bloom honesty despite the years of distance. With all the betrayal and heartbreak Evan caused to these people, he couldn’t add one more. He needed to be accountable.

As he breathed in, the room held its breath, “It’s not my choice to go back.”

A fist clouted Evan’s ear—excruciating pain hit and Evan  _screamed_ , a guttural sound that blurred the line between human and primal. Ringing drowned other else: his heartbeat, his heavy breathing, Marcel’s words, Tyler’s cursing. Although Evan was ridden with pain that overwhelmed his other senses, he did not let himself collapse. He accepted Marcel’s rage, physically and mentally, even though Evan was in a dangerous track with the amount of blood he lost earlier.

“I wish it was Jonathan that lived instead of you!” A knee flew to his stomach.

“I couldn’t care less if you died, you piece of shit! You had a good life while all of us remained here to relive that night  _every day._ ” A pair of punches smacked both of his cheek alternately.

All of Marcel’s remarks were interrupted by violence, by the drops of blood on the floor, by sharp grunts from Evan. His nose and ear bled, his jaw clicked when he tried to clench it. When he doubled over from a kick to the stomach, Evan released his guard and let himself to finally hit the ground, to finally have something to help him carry this much weight, even for a second.

But Marcel gathered the back of his shirt and pulled him up for knuckles to meet jaw.

“Come here! I’ll make sure I’ll kill you tonight.” And Evan was okay with that, as a matter of fact. He would die but his guilt would be released. And maybe he could seek Jonathan’s forgiveness next.

“Don’t kill him, Marcel. Let him live without anyone caring for him. His parents left him after all.” Tyler’s voice was stalactites that fell on Evan.

When he stiffened, Marcel noticed it, Evan knew he had to take the conversation off of this topic. “What, you don’t want talking about your parents?” Marcel stepped closer, leaning on Evan’s good ear. “They leaving you bothered you until now, didn’t it? You still can’t believe they’d do that, can you?”  
  
Evan looked down on his right arm and flexed it unconsciously, keeping himself silent even though words and memories warred in his head.

“Stop the attack about his parents, Marcel.” Brian interrupted. “It’s not right. They’re dead.”

Evan’s eyes turned sharply to Brian. “Don’t you say a word about my parents.” Every word spat venom, every syllable a blade. Anger blistered inside him, and this time, he would let it. He would hiss at anyone who dared dig  _that_ memory.

Evan had no idea how Brian knew, but it was clear he was using his parent’s death to control him.

Marcel stepped back from Evan and Tyler’s forehead creased, but one thing was similar in their expressions—confusion. They didn’t know what happened. No one  _should_ know about it, in fact, because his grandmother pleaded the law to keep it confidential.

Brian leaned away from the wall, and crushed the light of his cigarette with the heel of his shoes, his eyes never leaving Evan’s. “Tell them.”

“No.” Then Evan faced Marcel. “Hit me! Punch me some more, Marcel! I want it!”

But Brian was insistent—he grabbed Evan by his right arm. The very same arm that…  
  
“You need to tell them. I will tell them.” Brian turned to everybody. “They killed themselves. They used—”  
  
“No one has to know anything!” Evan tackled Brian, the latter falling on his back with a groan. When the two of them were down, Evan punched his friend multiple times. He pounded and pounded and pounded. A bone cracked and Evan wasn’t sure if it was Brian’s nose or his knuckles because his vision was blurry. Tears marked his cheeks, diluting blood that caked on his face. His lips trembled, competing against the tremors of his own limbs as he remembered  _everything._  “Why would you say that, Brian?” He sobbed. “Why would you make me think of it again?”

_It was a month since that night. And not a day passed that he wasn’t wrecking anything. Their house had almost only stood on its skeleton—the walls perforated with fist-size holes, the floor in rubble. Evan didn’t occur to him that something was wrong with him—thinking all these strengths came from his fury. Because one time, years ago, his parents were yelling at each other downstairs and plates clattered and shattered, and when Evan inspected the next morning, the wall had slashes and holes._

_His parents had acted normal after their fight._

_So Evan thought what he could do was common and he could act calm after as well._

_Eventually, Evan had to stop going to school. All his parent’s savings had been spent to Evan’s hospitalization, and his father lost his job because Evan’s mom kept calling him to the point that it disturbed his father’s work pace._

“ _Evan broke the plumbing system.”_

“ _A rock hit the fuse when he broke the floor.”_

“ _He accidentally elbowed the stove and I can’t cook.”_

“ _Don’t use the stairs when you come home.”_

_It was a night of the first day of October when he broke a door, and his parents went into his room, at the rickety second floor of the house. The two sat on the windowsill, calm but eerie. A strange vibe surrounded them that Evan easily found scary. Most of the time, they gave Evan a smile as they muttered their ‘It’s okays’ and ‘be careful next times’ whenever he broke something. But that night, his parents had shadows taking home under their tired eyes, their nods only a flick of a chin._

_At first he thought they were mad, but then his mother spoke._ “ _Listen to me, Evan,” she gave him a long tight embrace, he inhaling the fragrance of her silky hair. “I love you. I love that you keep trying. But I hope one day you forgive mama. There is nothing else strong in this house but you.”_

“ _I forgive you now, mama. The two of us are strong.” Little Evan’s lips wobbled because tears from his mother’s eyes were unending as she broke the hug. He reached out and flicked them away, and it took him a long time to dry her face because they just kept coming. “I forgive you now, just-just don’t cry, mama.”_

_His mother drew back, looking away. Then his father leaned forward and gave him a hug as well. “Son, can you tell papa that it’s going to be okay?”_

“ _Papa, it’s alright. I’ll forgive you too if that’s what you want.”_

_His father cleared his throat, he too refusing to look at Evan. His parents exchanged gazes, then they eyed the ropes they wrapped and tied around Evan’s body when they hugged him. Evan traced where the ropes ended, and saw them attached around their necks. When they opened the window, the cold breeze of the night blew, sending him into shivers. But there was nothing colder, nothing else in Evan’s life could have made his whole body ice, than the whistle of the wind as their bodies toppled over outside the window. Evan’s last sight of them was the view of their favorite shoes dislodging from their feet, falling last._

_With that age, Evan didn’t know what this act meant so he stayed there, on his bedroom floor, hugging his knees. Because they have ropes, right? They could hang on. Plus, the second floor wasn’t that high._  
  
Evan felt the ropes tightening around him, but their weight didn’t drag his body towards the window. He only heard thuds hitting the walls as if someone was knocking. “Mama? Papa?” And when no one answered, he altered the question, “Who’s there?” Evan yelled to let the visitor know that someone was home, and it only echoed back to him. There was no answer again.

_When his grandmother arrived at the scene, she kept on screaming Evan’s name with panic and horror as she looked for his grandson. And that was only the time Evan was certain something was wrong. Panting and with heart throbbing inside his chest, he wrapped and wrapped and wrapped the ropes around his right arm–until from the windowsill, hair peeked._

“ _M-mama?” He called tentatively. “Papa?”_

_He rolled the ropes some more. Some more. Some more. Their heads were inside the room, their skin ashen, their tied throats blue and purple and exposed, their eyes open and stared at Evan._

_“You scared me.” Evan giggled wile wiping his tears. “I’m so scared. Come in now. It’s cold there.”_

_Then his grandmother found him, cried out, and covered his eyes. “Don’t look at ‘em!”_

_Of course Evan refused to obey his grandmother; they were looking at him, right there! They were going to say something! He was in denial, but the words of his mother played in his mind: “There is nothing else strong in this house but you.”  She was not talking about emotional strength._

_He wouldn’t leave that spot, wouldn’t face the other way, so his grandmother blocked his view and cupped his little face, and spelled out everything for him. “They’re dead, my dear child. They left us.”_

_There. They left. That was what happened. That was what he was going to tell if someone asked._

It had been twelve years, and the past was still too close to the surface. He still bled from the very same wounds he stitched a long time ago, to the same wounds he patched from time to time in hopes to prevent  _this._

Someone pulled Evan back from Brian, and Evan yielded. He withdrew and distanced himself from others until his spine touched a wall. His lungs panting non-stop with his assault on Brian and the assault of memories on him.

While Marcel was helping Brian to his feet, Evan ended his contemplating, finding it unnecessary to keep this dirty secret of his when he broke down like that. So with a hoarse voice, he let himself fall deeper into the memory. “They hung themselves. The ropes were tied to me. They jumped out of the window of my room. ‘Twas at the second floor. My grandmother had to tie the ropes to the bed posts so the police wouldn’t question why.” Evan rose his shoulder for a weak attempt of shrugging, to play it lightly than it really was, but he ended up exhaling a trembling breath. “Why did they tied the ropes to a child? Why didn’t he call for help?” A tear rolled down from his left eye, and its tracks cooled the wet skin. He harshly wiped it away, angry for the betrayal of his own body. He wasn’t supposed to be upset; he practiced this a hundred times—that if someone would know the truth, Evan would not cry. “I have too many ghosts in here. That’s why I never want to come back.”

Tyler turned to him, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes no longer bearing interest nor wrath. Behind him, the wall of air snapped close like a television switched off, revealing Brock and David.

“You never run away from your problems, Evan.” Tyler intently fixated his gaze on Evan. “They have a way of coming back, bigger than when you last saw them.”

Brian, after unlatching himself from the support of Marcel, fell on the couch, an arm and a leg draping over the back pillow. “Man, you should have known you will go far with this evading, the runner that you are. And running away from us is only not offensive if we’re in a race.”

“Or if we stink.” David interjected who was keeling over a wall.

“But seriously,” Brian, with a smudge of blood under his nose, nodded at Evan. “I’m really very sorry for forcing you to say that. I want everyone to know that you didn’t have a good life away from us. You don’t deserve—”

“Marcel,” Evan sighed, ignoring Brian, and looked up to the curly-haired man. It was done. He had calmed his heartbeats into the slowest he could possibly make them be. He was reduced to a weight of a chair, and one hit from Marcel would send Evan straight to the wall. It had to be done, if there was still anger in their hearts then it was only fitting that Evan be the receiver of the release.

Evan wanted equal peace to live in all of them—he wanted the same burnt skin, the same wounds, the same scars. He might gain them from different ways, but he could not think any other kind of apology that could satisfy his guilt. “Punch me.” The order was hinted with an approval itself.

“Evan, stop it!” Brock exclaimed, and Evan was once again inside a dome. “Your torment is over today. And yes, I’m deciding that.”

“One last release, Brock,” Evan pressed his hands on the shield, cool and relaxing against his touch, his eyes steady as they held Brock’s.

“Let’s give him what he wants, Brock.” Marcel said, but he never left his eyes from Evan. His hands were folded over his chest, an eyebrow rising high. “Let’s grant his wish.”

“Marcel,” Tyler’s voice was dangerously low as he marched towards the other man.

“Evan,” Brian shot up from his seat, his tone containing a sharp edge.

“Stop this, please.” David croaked, then coughed.

“One last.” Evan didn’t waver as he stared intently at Brock. “Then no more.”

With a couple of seconds of thinking, Brock sighed, his hand retreating to his side. The protection around Evan opened at the top and melted like snow down to his heels. Suddenly, Marcel was at the front of Evan, a few inches shorter than him. His waist was twisted, fist already swung back and ready for launch. Evan closed his eyes hard and waited, and he felt the wind of his knuckles coming. Fast and vicious. Whistling.

Air slashed across Evan’s face, taking the breath out of him, but the huge impact did not come. Not one knuckle clipped his jaw.

Instead, there was a light tap on his shoulder.

He opened his lids. Marcel’s face was the first thing he saw—his friend was offering a small smile. “I missed. I lose.”

Evan’s eyes roamed around the room. Brian gave him a thumbs-up. Brock nodded at him as he picked up David on the floor, who was grinning at Evan. Tyler was on his way to the refrigerator, whining that he was hungry.

Then his eyes was back at Marcel once more, the tension on his shoulder loose, sporting all kinds of aura but hostility. Evan took a little step forward to Marcel, to reach out and to confirm if what his eyes was seeing was something he could believe. Evan staggered on his feet. But it didn’t matter. Marcel was there, able and  _willing_ to actually give him the support he needed. When Marcel caught him before he fell, Evan started to tremble, tears finally  _finally_ seeing freedom, not meeting any suppression from him.

A metal cuff that encased his neck for the longest time snapped open in two, coming with it were the twelve years’ worth of sadness. Evan restrained his lips between his teeth for they quivered. But the tears, he couldn’t control. His shoulders shook and it triggered all of his emotions—a sob escaped through his mouth despite how hard he kept it shut.

Then Marcel’s arm was hooked around his neck, and he dragged his head down to give him a sloppy smooch on the cheek. There was nothing Evan could do but to laugh along the others.

“Our little brother is back, boys!”

The roar was louder than that of his classmates’s in grade school when they bullied Evan. It was louder when these very people cheered when he won a race. And Evan had never heard something so reassuring that it made his heart beat  _normally._ He didn’t have to control the pace of his pulse to feel calm, to feel the usual denseness of his flesh; it just adjusted back to how it should be by just being around these people.

For the first time since  _that_  night, through his bones and veins, through his mind and heart, Evan was glad that he was alive.

____

Later, they ate dinner together, but Evan did not touch his food, in fear that after taking a spoonful and after bring his eyes back to the table, his friends were gone. Here, by leaving his stomach empty, he could watch his friends and analyze how they had changed. Tyler had a beard and a mole below his nose that wasn’t there when he was young, and he was the tallest of them all as he had to duck to see what was in the fridge.

Brian was a smoker, but Tyler always pulled out air out of the former’s lungs after a puff. It occurred to Evan that it was happening for some time now because Brian would only deflate with a sigh of resignation.

Brock was still the bookworm, but he transferred from fantasy books to science books, explaining to Evan that he wished to know their powers more.

Marcel was the happiest of them all. His laughs were the loudest, his wheezes were the longest. He apologized to Evan and said he took back everything he had said earlier. Evan tapped his back gently and apologized too.

David’s green eyes had turned brighter through the years, but Evan failed to notice it until the healer was clutching Evan’s face as he stubbornly healed some of his injuries. That made David even weaker, especially when he slumped on that chair, trying his best to look that he could still dine. And he would beam at Evan whenever David caught him staring and worrying.

Then there was their powers.

“We never use them in everyday lives.” David informed Evan while trying to sip some tea, his accent still lilting in each syllable. “It exhausts us. It exhausts me more when I need to restore ‘em.”

“I can see that,“ Evan nodded, "Wait. Was it you who healed me? After the incident at school?”

David nodded as he passed the gravy to Tyler with shaky hands. “Imagine my surprise seeing you after twelve years but half-dead. Brian himself was just as dead when I arrived at the scene.”

“Yup,” Brian covered his mouth, then burped. “I had to be there all-throughout the police investigation with my illusion. I had to drag your dead ass out of the way, because it’d be unexplainable if the coppers were just to trip over an invisible something, wouldn’t it? We’re there for at least three hours.”

Illusion. Brian had illusion. That seemed to be an intricate ability. Imagine being able to control what others saw—from the smallest stain of blood to the biggest tree there was. “What about Connor?”

“I sent Connor here to call David. You’ll bleed to death if I just wait everything to wrap up.”

So Connor knew.

“But what about the actual lifting of the tree and towing of the bus?” Evan’s forehead creased with how much thinking he actually had to do by analyzing their powers.  _He secretly loved it. “_ How did you pull that off?”

Brian hunched over to get himself another serving of the soup. “I can make people feel whatever emotion I want them to feel. I can make them think something is heavy. I can make them think that they’re only imagining hitting two boys on the road.”

“Don’t gape at Brian. His power’s not the good,” Tyler heckled as he jabbed a grape into his mouth.

“Excuse me?!” Brian slammed the table.

“I said your power’s not that good.”

"Do you want to come at me, motherfucker?”

“Brock has shield.” Evan turned to the David and Brock, ignoring the verbal skirmish of the other two over the table.

“That’s correct. It can hold off fire and water, but not air—not always.” Brock informed as he was cleaning his sunglasses with the hem of his t-shirt. “If I save you from a wildfire, there is a possibility that you could still be killed from the smoke. It is also the reason I can’t go through Tyler’s wall earlier. But notice that when Tyler was choking you, my shield worked and air was contained? It chooses times and situations, I guess.” Brock bowed a little bit to Tyler. “The wall is a smart move, by the way.”

Tyler lost his focus from his fight with Brian and turned to Brock. He propped his chin on his hand, his tone changing from teasing to smug. “I’ve always been smart, Brock. Not book smart like you but smart-smart. Like natural smart.” Tyler faced to Evan, his boastful look reducing into a soft smile. “I control wind, in case you haven’t figured out. All kinds of ‘em.”

“That’s amazing.” Evan breathed in astonishment.

“But do you know what  _I_ can do?” Marcel stole the conversation.

Tyler scowled at the interference. “Marcel, he doesn’t have to have college degree to figure out. You practically demonstrated a few moments ago—“

But Marcel wasn’t listening to Tyler. The former had one foot on the seat of his chair and one of his arms flexing in front of them, his eyes glittering in excitement. With a huffed chest, Marcel transferred from different places—at the top of the refrigerator; in the living room, his cackles echoing; somewhere in the chimney.

Everyone was falling off their chairs in laughter when Marcel came back with coal stains all over him.

These were Evan’s twelve-year-old chasm. These very people. This friendship. He had avoided all them physically, but mentally, every day, Evan was with them, wondering whether they were happy, sad, neutral, or if someone just lost in a GTA match. And then he would imagine returning—that took the joy of just remembering. Because the idea of coming back was a plague in his mind, and he was determined he wouldn’t do it.

But when the idea lingered, he thought that they would hug him and welcome him back—they would say they understood.

They actually did that but right after the brawl, and Evan still couldn’t believe that the reunion he pictured—laughing, joking, boasting, all of them eating together— was actually happening.

This was Evan’s perfect dream, and it came true.

“ _Evan?"_ A voice, faint and broken, called _, "Evan, tomorrow…please.”_

Evan snapped his gaze to his friends who were still wheezing and laughing at Marcel, and when it was evident they didn’t hear anything unusual, he scanned the room to see if there was any other else.

But they were alone.

Evan lurched forward and snatched the packet of cigarette near Brian’s plate, not really caring if they get weirded out. "I need to smoke. I’ll be right back.” He threw the door open and slammed it shut.

Evan didn’t smoke. Immediately discarding the lighter and the crumpled packet on the plant box, Evan paced back and forth. He didn’t want to acknowledge the voice, didn’t want to learn that something was wrong in him again. But what if  _he_  was real? What if it was his ability? But why could he only talk to Evan?

With a nervous glance to the door, Evan stopped walking and whispered in the air, "Jonathan?“

The night was full of mystery–it was the shadow itself after all. Swallowing even the largest of the forests, the highest of the cliffs, hiding those who wished to stay hidden. Its master, the moon. Substituting sometimes, the stars. There wouldn’t be any vibrant yellow rays that brought a temporary sense of security like there was in the morning, no sun to expose those who wanted to remain veiled. And people reckoned nights were supposed to be the time the uncanny monsters appeared. 

It was the time where those who had something to hide reveal who they were.

But what would it be called if the one who showed himself to Evan was someone uncanny but never a monster? What if the  _monster_  became a monster because he was a hero first?

Was he still a monster?

The bright blue glow outlining the figure was frizzy, unlike the smooth texture it had in Bryce’s basement. It was hovering near the lamp post, just along the edge of the forested plain across the street–but it was shrinking.

It was retreating. 

Evan ran, reducing his density in every step, in every pant, so he could sail through the trees. The forest was a different definition of darkness. It wasn’t something the light couldn’t touch–it was a place where darkness  _lived._ The only guide Evan had was the nearing glow, still retreating but closer now. He could make out the blue hood billowing against the air. 

Sweat broke through Evan’s forehead as he tried to catch up and use his ability simultaneously. It was like he was in a race once more, but this time, Evan couldn’t win, for his opponent was unknown, his price untouchable.

Evan got even closer, the blue light became dull, revealing Jonathan, cheeks glittering, a terrified look on his face, an arm stretching towards Evan. It seemed like something was dragging him by his ankles.

Evan’s heart dropped from the sight, but he recovered with hope. “I’m coming!” He screamed even though Jonathan was inches away.

There was nothing Evan could possibly do–his friend was only a light and couldn’t be touched and that thing dragging him was something Evan was oblivious about. And even if Evan had a plan, he couldn’t do it with this darkness and with the branches clawing and scratching his skin.

Yet he leaped.

He couldn’t just give up on his friend–he already did that once and Evan regret it for a decade. So with an unwavering determination, he jumped and kicked a bark of a tree to catapult himself closer, an arm reaching, five fingers stretching. Jonathan made effort to get nearer, too, as he bit his lower lip in struggle to graze Evan’s fingers with his. 

Everything happened too slowly. They soared mid-air. Even though he knew what would happen, Evan still slammed his hand on Jonathan’s wrist, trying to grab his friend.

Where Evan thought his fingers would slip through, it didn’t. Time stilled. His eyes widened. A gasp escaped Jonathan. The two of them stared at each other, their breathing both stopping, mind buzzing.

Jonathan wasn’t imaginary. He wasn’t a light. He was real, and he was tangible.

That was a couple of second of trance, and when Evan realized that, he went into action. His grip to Jonathan tightened, and he commanded his body to solidify quickly, to be filled with pure cement. His head spun into a dizzying swirl, the forest reducing into a black spiral. But Evan closed his eyes and promised to himself that no matter what, he would not let go.

He would not pass out.

_I’m Jonathan’s last hope._

When he dropped on the ground with a loud crash of his feet against the tree roots, he realized that he dragged Jonathan to the ground too and was no longer floating. Evan pulled his friend to him, trying to reach for his elbow this time—but his wet hand found no rough grip. It appeared like they were up against a strong force, too, because despite Evan’s weight, the other was still getting strongly yanked away from him.

So he offered his other hand to him, and Jonathan accepted it and clung to it. As he pushed his legs and feet against the thick braids of tree roots, Evan could feel how much Jonathan wanted to stay—his nails cut into Evan’s wrists, scratching stripes of wounds that looked like tallies in red. Evan didn’t mind, though, as he increased the roaring of his heartbeats. Blood finally burst from nostrils.

If he hadn’t been too exhausted, Evan could make himself heavier, more and more, and save– 

Jonathan was shaking his head, “I don’t want to go back to where I’m going. Please.” The last word was a sob, and another tear raced down his cheek.

“I won’t let it.” Evan gnashed his teeth as he drew his elbows back to pull Jonathan closer. “Don’t let go.”

But Jonathan’s image flickered, and the wrists Evan were holding turned into light, his fingers suddenly closing into fists. He whipped his gaze to his friend’s face, and saw his eyes widened into panic and terror. There was a one second when he was just there, face to face with Evan. If their hands didn’t go through each other, it looked like Evan was only helping his friend stand up.

Then Jonathan’s hands slammed on the ground, his fingers clawing the hearth as he was getting dragged once more. This time, in a speed that Evan couldn’t mimic.

“No! Jonathan!”

“Tomorrow!” His friend screamed, a fading cry. Evan watched Jonathan’s glow receded, until he was something as small as a firefly’s fire.

Evan discovered a different kind of torture, something so extreme, so harrowing, that there was a portion of his soul that died. It was when he got a glimpse of life that was right, a glimpse into a correct version of the world, the whole twelve years of mistake finally aligning into something so beautiful, bringing back a life that wasn’t supposed to be lost.

Only to be snatched away after he got a taste.

As if it knew Evan didn’t merit the joy yet. Or at all. So he sat there, on the thick root of a tree, amidst the darkest shadows, looking at his hands, and trying to remember how Jonathan was alive beneath his hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, is this fic any good? lol My friends say yes, but, you know, they're my friends haha Please do let me know what you think of this fic and chapter! <3
> 
> And sorry for the mistakes. I just saw them and have no time to edit ( ಥـْـِـِـِـْಥ)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support for this fic! It just means a lot to me that you guys are enjoying this. <3 Chapter 5 will be up around this week as well! 
> 
> And sorry for the mistakes if there's any. (╥﹏╥)

Did he sleep last night? Evan could put effort in thinking and he’d still end up clueless. 

He had returned to Brock’s home—after trudging for hours to find the right way out of the woods—to let them know that he was tired and needed to go home and not that his legs wanted to give nor that his knuckles wanted to pound bricks.

How could he bring up what had just happened? How could he tell them he failed their friend? They were worried, of course. Forks and knives cluttered on the table, chairs screeching against the floor. The room had been drenched in silence when Tyler and Brian eyed the blood at the front of Evan’s shirt, his disheveled state, and his distracted look.

“Evan,” Brian’s face was a dusking sky as it wore shadows as dark as an alleyway of robbers and murderers. “What did you do?”

“A squirrel jumped on me and I lost control of my ability and blood came out of my nose.”

Even  _he_  heard his own bullshit.

“Just tell us you’re okay,” Brock sighed, slacking on his chair, as if he heard the words that didn’t make the cut in Evan’s failing excuse.

“I am,” Evan answered. That, too, was another bullshit.

But thank heavens they didn’t insist the subject.

Once home, Evan had curled into his bed and attempted to sleep, but he felt like the walls were bent over him, looming at his pretense. Pillows overflowed and fell over the edge of his bed as he twisted and turned, and he originally did this because he was starting to feel alone on this bed. But that time, the pillows were nothing but rough pavement against his skin, so he had to kick them all off the covers—until his bed was bare. The light of the cars passing by had been swiping across his ceiling from time to time—bright and brief—and the fake flash of daylight had sent Evan into a jolt, eyes snapping open, hoping it was his friend again.

He was disappointed every time. Night had passed like that—him attempting to sleep and his mind being as bright as a fireplace. But no matter how hard he closed his eyes, the vivid and unwavering image of Jonathan still made it in his vision.

Now it was almost dawn.

He had thought of ways to get rid of the heavy drag of last night’s event, and only came up with one. After David’s healing last night, Evan’s body had felt smoldering with all the strength stored in it, and he thought it had to catch up with the exhaustion of his mind—perhaps it was easier for him to mend the ripped seams of his brain when something was healing with it, too.

So he found himself running through the woods, the new scratches of tiny, prickling branches stinging viciously than last night, his muscles throbbing from every time he was about to stop but still decided against it. One hour after, there were leaves stuck in Evan’s hair and socks, his skin torn open with some thin, reddish gashes.

He was finally emerging from the line of the trees, walking.

Sweat bud from every pore, making his shirt damp and pasted against his body, his heartbeats—which was drumming against his ears—had been born of exhaustion. This time, not because of his ability.

He started taking the path home, walking on a concrete river of gray, but in a careful fashion that made it appear as if he was traversing a velveted carpet. He shoved out every worry from his mind, selecting what would brew and what would sizzle. He purposely strode past home seven times to give necessary time for his lungs and pulse to comprimise a rhythm.

On the tenth, there was no hint that they would stop rattling. His heart still raged, his memory still savagely detailed. No matter how much he hollow out his body and mind, if his heart was disturbed, he would still be brimming with worries. He was forcing new bones inside weary muscles, smearing thick red paint over his eyes that wanted to see blue, gluing a picture of heaven over a mural of hell, yet his heart wasn’t fooled. Evan felt so dumb.

He ran again—this time, he let his lungs be abused and his feet go numb. The world had given him another weight to carry—maybe it was the reason denseness was his ability—perhaps it knew that he was destined to bear things. With his grandmother’s death, his return to this place, the accident, him facing Bryce’s group, him facing  _his_ own group of friends, Evan’s plate was already full, his chalice overflowing. He badly needed to rest. For just one day.

_Just one is all I ask._

After a couple of minutes, he decided to stop at the front of his house. The bushes was shuffled by a gust as he crossed his lawn, rustling softly that made it appear as if they were whispering secrets they didn’t want Evan to overhear. He inserted the key in the lock of the door. After the sharp click almost swallowed by the sound of his jangling keys, Evan flung the door open and the cool air of his AC hurled itself at him with a thick aroma coffee from yesterday. Light strode in rays and basked a bright color onto three glum faces: Brian, Brock, and Marcel. All sat on his couch, all frowning. Tyler was still by the window like a life-size decoration, eyes closed lightly as if accommodating a pleasant dream, fog swirling around his head. He was so motionless standing there, leaning on the wall that Evan couldn’t tell if he was breathing. He wasn’t disturbed by the sudden noise he just created.

Tyler wasn’t even the cause of the noise himself.

Of course, Evan had no idea why they were in there—or how did they even make it inside. But there was a more important question to ask.

“Where is David?” His voice grated against his throat and came out hoarse.

Marcel and Brock flinched by the sound of David’s name like it was a tack lodged into their soles, and Brian was quick to lunge at Evan and cover his mouth. “Shhh. Just don’t mention his name for now.” Then they all spent a gaze at Tyler—all of the three’s shoulders drooped at the reminder of a chaos Evan was still oblivious about.

Evan swatted Brian’s hands away. Confusion was a heavy sway inside his mind, and it waved along with suspicion. “Why is he under your—”

“Let’s go out,” Brian pushed Evan out of his own home, and closed the door in a impressively gentle way that no hinge dared snicker. Brian even peered through the polished window to glance at Tyler—releasing a scared look when he saw that their friend was calm—before facing Evan once more.

“So, what’s happening?” He raised an eyebrow.

“David is missing.”

“WHAT?”

Brian sighed and massaged his temple, “He wasn’t in his room when Tyler delivered breakfast. And Tyler—he was mad. Mad. At everyone for not noticing anything. At himself for not checking in on him earlier. ”

Evan frowned, and this time, it was he who peeked for a glimpse of Tyler. When they were kids, all that was important to Tyler was winning a race against Evan, paying back to Brian’s pranks, his bike, and his helmet. Now he cared for something that moved, that breathed, that could battle against everything he believed in. He cared for a person. “What can those fog do? Calm him down?”

“Yes,” Brian answered, but it was more like a whiny groan, “It took me seven times to find an illusion that could cool him down.”

Evan was taken aback, eyes wide, “What could calm him down?”

With that, Brian slung an arm around Evan’s neck, his mouth quirking in a shameless way that suggested he knew a nasty secret. “Ah. That, my friend, is something you’ll have to ask him once he is awake.”

That would only happen if Evan fancied a necklace made out of his own guts, so he promised himself he wouldn’t. “So why are you here? Aren’t some of us supposed to be looking for David?”

“We thought he was here with you,” Brian’s tone changed from glee to glum. “His things are still at home. All his shoes are there too. We knew he was taken, but we’re not sure who.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it was Bryce,” Evan hissed, the name sounded off in harmony with his abhorrence. He still remembered how they abducted Evan, how brutal and cruel no matter what the intentions were, and if they dared do the same thing to frail David, they wouldn’t only get Tyler’s wrath. Evan’s too. “There wouldn’t be any other else who could.”

“We know that. But we already went there. The fuckers were all asleep, except for Lucas and Kryoz who are in the hospital because of what happened last night.”

That gained a frown from Evan, diluting his worry with more suspicion. Because why? Why would Kryoz and Lucas be brought to a hospital where there was a chance their abilities would be discovered? And why was none of their friends were making sure their treatment would go smoothly?

“ _Tomorrow,“_ Jonathan had said. Today.

With a jolt, Evan straightened his back, and he burst through the door, back to his living room. Marcel looked up at him, Brock nervously glanced at Tyler first, then glared at Evan, and Brian followed Evan’s steps.

“The amusement park,” Evan began, but his teeth were gritting against each other that he wasn’t sure if the syllables came out properly—he didn’t care enough to repeat it. “It will happen today. Kryoz and Lucas aren’t at a hospital—they have David because they need to be cured right away to stop Ryan. Bryce wasn’t lying about Ryan being alive. What you saw earlier—them sleeping—was an act.”

Now it was their chance to be confused, their faces featured puzzled expressions Evan understood full-heartedly. Of course, they were not convinced, because, even to Evan, it all sounded like it was born of grudges and accusations.

“How are you so sure?”

“Evan, you weren’t there. They were legit snoring and sweating.”

“I know they hurt us, but we can’t act if they did nothing wrong.”

With a frustrated grunt, Evan rubbed his palms on his face. There was no chance he would tell them that Jonathan gave him a clue, because that would only make him more unbelievable, and it would cause him another lengthy explanation. David needed them  _now._ “Do you really think they’d risk exposing their powers by going to a hospital like that? You all know well we can’t go to hospitals, especially without each other’s guidance. But no one else was with Lucas and Kryoz.”

Brian frowned. Brock hesitated. Marcel crossed his legs, his interest piqued. They waited to hear how could Evan support his theory more, that there was more to these words than flinging of blood and dirt to others, but, of course, he had none. 

Evan blinked—a vice running decidedly inside his bloodstreams like poison. Without another moment, he closed the distance between him and Tyler in just a couple of strides, the coffee scent gone in exchange of rust and bitter aftertaste of not being able to explain himself properly. He snatched Tyler’s arm, jolting the tall man from his trance.

“Evan!” The three protested, sharp but helpless.

Tyler’s eyes wavered and dilated into sobriety, no longer a prisoner of fog and illusion.

“What—Evan?”

But Evan didn’t have time to explain—he made his tone and spine sturdy in preparation to the anger that would come with Tyler’s awareness. “I know where David is. He’s at the amusement park.”

There was one moment when Tyler’s gaze dove into the corner to his left, a hopeful spark gleaming in his eyes—and Evan saw it dissolved into a tint of realization and disappointment when he found the spot empty. The shadows on his face grew darker and darker, dancing along a song that screamed peril.

Then his two hands raised, flashed at Evan, making him step back with terror. 

There was a crisp snap, and suddenly, Evan was flying across the air with a great force that assured him he would crash through a wall. His arms and legs waved through the air as the wind continued to haul him backwards. But the moment he was below a couch, Evan was dropped instantly, his stomach lurching from the sudden descend, the springs groaning as he sank into them. Tyler flicked his wrist, then the door slammed, trapping the five of them in a dingy aura. He then pointed at Brian, and slapped the air. Brian dove face-first into the same couch Evan was on, but this time, it wasn’t the springs that groaned—it was Brian himself.

Then their friend floated, sailed across the room to drop in front of them, but with so much grace than what he granted to Evan and Brian.

“Brock, shield for all of us,” Tyler commanded.

Without any idea what could Tyler’s plan be, Brock’s shield formed a halo above their heads, sporting a golden glow as it stretched and gaped bigger to cater to the height and space the four of them occupied. Not until the ring touched the ground did it singe. The half-moon shield turning into a little bit see-through but a little bit blurry, too.

In a heartbeat, Tyler was pulling Marcel by his collar and just  _glared_.

And Marcel  _knew_ what to do.

When Marcel closed his eyes, everybody did, too, except Evan. He spent a long glance at Marcel, at how expressive his eyebrows when he was concentrating, at how his lips mumbled as he ordered his power to rip the space between Evan’s house and the amusement park. He might be using too much of himself as he transported five people, but maybe they all counted as one when inside Brock’s dome.

But none of those was Evan’s concern—it was his friend’s power itself. If Marcel was the one in the forest, he could have saved Jonathan. Just one touch and Jonathan would know real fredom and living. If that had happened, David wouldn’t be taken, as all of them could have stayed awake all night, having a feast for the return of two people.

_I wish I have it instead of this,_ Evan thought and stared at his curling fingers for one moment.

What could he possibly do to save people with this? Sure, he had stopped a bus, but if he had teleportation, he didn’t even have to be wounded. Connor didn’t have to be terrified with the sight of blood. He wouldn’t have to need Brian and David’s abilities to smoothen out the trouble.

Jonathan could have been sipping coffee at Brock’s house or peeling mangoes right now.

Evan sighed when it dawned on him that this was how he could destroy himself—by comparing and by thinking he wasn’t good enough. He had done this before, but  _before_ , he had no real purpose as to why he had to break the surface of the ocean he was drowning in. Now, he couldn’t afford to lose himself when his friends needed him.

Evan stopped thinking altogether when he noticed that Marcel was now staring back at him. Evan looked away, ashamed that he was envious of his friend’s power, more so that he was caught right in the act. Thankfully, the pinking of his cheeks was veiled by the warmth of the sun as they emerged from the slash in space Marcel made.

A carousel sang to their left; kids running alongside their favorite horse hopped and skipped. Some stumbled but they’d only get up just as merry. At their north was the empty Ferris wheel that disturbed the sunlight’s direct flow, and not far beyond was the sea that reflected back the sun’s glare. But the sea’s glittered image of the sun was distorted and full of scalloped waves—and it was nowhere close to the unlimited stretch of the cottony blue sky.

To Evan’s right, the aromatic smell of onion and garlic incited a growl from his stomach, forcing him to take note that he hadn’t eaten anything decent starting from yesterday. The picnic area was teeming—not with people—with dried leaves that were carried by the wind from the little forest nearby. That was despite the park having a surge.

Thanks to Brian’s quick response, he had conjured up a drape of fog to conceal their sudden appearance. Brock’s shield continued to follow them as they reached the darker part of the forest.

Brian waved his arms and the fog disappeared—all deflated.

After a blink of time, Tyler was already marching inside their circle, dismantling what little relief they tried to exhale. He clapped his hands, and settled them on his hips, his face too strain as if to keep the exasperation the only emotion showing. “We split up. That way we can find David faster.” No one argued, and, in fact, everyone was eager to do their job, despite Tyler being toxic under pressure. Despite not having a concrete reason from Evan about his accusations.

In the end, Evan was paired with Tyler, while Brock and Marcel were matched up. Brian was the lone wolf, saying he would very much like to sneak up on Bryce’s group while invisible. Having someone with him to conceal too would drain his strength pretty fast.

When the team broke off, Tyler and Evan headed to the center of the park, where all he could hear was the shrieks of kids and the chatters of the people. He wouldn’t have minded the if Tyler wasn’t getting pissed about it, stomping on the ground mumbling about why these people were celebrating when David was missing and probably dead.

“Don’t say that aloud,” Evan groaned as he shifted his gaze from left to right in hopes of grazing some green eyes or a black cowlick just above the left ear.

Tyler only grunted.

The two of them searched through the haunted house twice and then the coastline thrice, both in a span of an hour, but there was no sign of David. Evan intended to pursue the roller coaster next, but Tyler wanted to triple check the haunted house.

“Where is he?” His tall friend murmured as he covered a hand above his eyes to peer beyond the eerie light of the dusty chandelier. It already set off four sneezes from his friend, scaring more kids than the fake ghosts themselves did—still, Tyler was restless. Now that the anger was replaced with panic, Evan saw how Tyler was really attached to David. There was nothing but worry and determination to find him, and the antagonism of his voice and action was non-existent now as the time passed some more and swapped with rational reasoning.

“It’s going to be alright, Tyler.” Evan patted his friend’s shoulder, the echoes of their footsteps inside the horror house reduced into scratchy thuds as they stepped outside. “We’ll find him.”

But when Tyler halted walking, it was then when Evan realized how brisk their pace was because he whipped past. The helmeted man looked down on his fingers splayed, inspecting every line and every wrinkle, as if tucked beneath the crevices were answers he failed to see the first time. “We—the two of us had a fight last night. We’re roommates, you know? Brock’s home is not big enough for one is to one ratio. And since I got angry at him, I didn’t sleep in there. I didn’t sleep at all. When I thought to bring him breakfast, he’s fucking gone.”

Tyler’s hands curled into fists, slowly but intensely tight that Evan was sure one of his veins would snap. “Someone has to pay. I won’t let these fuckers get away. I will gouge their eyes out and—“

A light shone across Evan’s face, and at first he thought it was accidental—until it swiped across Tyler’s eyes, too. Both of their attention shifted, and it was Evan who hunted where the reflection was coming from.

“There!” Tyler shouted, pointing above, but as he screamed that, he also boost himself and flew towards the top cabin of the Ferris wheel.

Evan’s eyes widened with how reckless his friend was, his mind swelling in panic. Evan cried out desperately, “Brian! Brian!” His head was whipping left and right, neck strained as it craned.

A black figure whisked passed him, the air brought by the man slamming at Evan’s body. But he was wrong, Brian didn’t run past—he ran  _around_ Evan. Only to end up being a ladder to his friend, hands clasping both of Evan’s shoulders, feet scuffing fast against his back. Once on Evan’s shoulder, Brian jumped, one arm stretched to reach Tyler’s foot. The silhouettes of these two people were all shoulders and long limbs, black in all angles, but they were encased by the light of the sun as if the big ball of fire refused to be overshadowed. The view left Evan blinded, but even temporarily sightless, he knew Brian wouldn’t be high enough to clutch Tyler’s ankles.

So he acted on another plan. “Brian!” Evan inspected the ground and stopped just at the spot where Brian would fall. All of his fingers were laced together, his heartbeats set steady in an amplified volume. “Fall on me!” There was no explanation needed—Brian’s feet aimed for Evan’s hands, his black jacket ballooned out just behind him. Evan readied himself—he leaned down a little, his legs apart enough for the balance he needed. When Brian’s shoes touched Evan’s fingers and the world seemed to still as if it were watching, there was a little dip as their weights connected. In one brief exchange of nods, Evan hurled Brian into the air. And like a catapult, Brian rocketed into the sky, zooming and almost whirring. Dusts curled like claws on Evan’s sides, enveloping him in a clutch. His surroundings blocked his vision for a moment, and when in a few hand waves, the dusts cleared and he saw Brian successfully holding Tyler’s ankles,his other hand stretching up, almost shoving into Tyler’s face for the fog to easily conceal the two of them.

Then the ground gave a vicious shake, knocking most people to their knees. The trees in the forest were slanting, slanting, slanting, until they were completely pulled from the ground, exposing tangles of thick roots and soil. The water at the coast was bouncing, as if hundred thousand invisible rocks were being dropped on them per second. And then there was a low scary groan below the floor as it moved, a contrast to the loud screeching of the frightened people.

An earthquake.

All those who were still standing back-tracked, slowly at first as if testing their bones if they were sturdy enough. Some people already bolted. Some of those on their knees tried to stand up and ran—those who failed crawled.

But there was a new sound amidst the pandemonium—a creaking. A metal being slowly bent. It would have been a normal thing if it didn’t overpower all other sounds.

The Ferris wheel was tipping over, and at the top of the car was David, his face pressed onto the window. He was white as milk as he pounded the locked door.

Evan’s eyes widened. “Tyler!” As the helmeted man raised Brian to his level with his own power, he looked down at Evan .“Behind you! David!”

When Tyler turned with a gasp, wind swirled and whooshed so strong that Evan had to drag an arm in front of his face to protect his eyes from more dusts. Thankfully, people around weren’t weirded out with the sudden slap of air as they focused on the shaking ground.

“Tyler!” Brian’s shout was urgent and needy, and when Evan searched for his friend, he was nose-diving to the ground  _fast._

Evan’s veins were filled with ice. And as if Evan was attracted to chaos, he found himself sprinting towards the point where his friend would fall, hopping over people with wobbly knees. He could save Brian. Evan could lunge at him before he hit the ground, the only enemy was timing and the idea of failure.

“Stop running, Evan!”

He didn’t do that, but he did look at Tyler with irritation. “Keep your wits with you, will you?!”

Tyler ignored him and flashed his palm out towards the falling Ferris wheel—air  _swooped_  from where Evan was and it travelled to the Ferris wheel, bringing dusts and leaves with it. And with his other hand, Tyler clutched the air to the direction of Brian, who was a couple of meters away from his own fog. Both the Ferris wheel and Brian went still. Evan’s heart as paralyzed. Half-lidded, Tyler had his arms outstretched, veins embossed from the surface because of the strain, blood streaming from his nose because of how much strength he had to use to control air.

Evan couldn’t be relieved yet. With the quake not stopping and the sea waves receding, Evan didn’t see the situation becoming better. And seeing his friends struggling out there put him into action.

“Marcel!” Evan screamed for his friend. His head popped out from the crowd of curved spines and bowed heads. “I need you to transfer every person from the landing spot of the Ferris wheel to somewhere safe. Tyler can’t hold it for long.”

“Gotcha!” Marcel nodded and looked up at Brian, “Brian! I’ll transfer people. Can you conjure up some illusion for this?”

“I can make them sleep.”

“Perfect!” Then Marcel was off.

Suddenly Brock was beside Evan. With narrowed eyes, Evan pointed at the coast. “We need a huge shield for this one, Brock. I know little ones are already draining you fast but there’s going to be a tsunami—”

“I can do it. Don’t worry about me.” Brock patted Evan’s head, just like old times, and Evan allowed himself to be relieved. Just a little bit.

Because  _a little bit_  was a huge portion of other else.

When his friend slid down the slope towards the coast, Evan dropped his weight and faced the Ferris wheel. There was no other way but to climb with as little weight as possible, and even though he would be wagged like a flag because of Tyler’s stormy winds, Evan reached for the first metal rail. The angry rustling of the wind swallowed every other sound there was. Its force was so fierce and violent that he nearly knocked his head onto a railing twice.

The wind acted the way Tyler would.

Evan transferred from bar to bar; only his arms were heavy so he could easily carry his body and his grip would not easily loose hold. When he accidentally bowed his head low, he was given a tantalizing sight of the height he already travelled. Below, he witnessed people vanishing from their spot only to appear to the entrance of the park. Marcel was freeing the area from casualties and lining up the sleeping bodies, care of Brian’s power, along the park’s gate. Evan also saw Lucas and Kryoz, the former extending an arm to the sky, nostrils bursting red, an arm slung over Kryoz’s shoulder for support.

Evan was about to scream for his friends to watch out for the two, but Brian shouted first, “Summon the darkest night you can so their body would be fooled the way my fog did to their minds. Then your asshole friend could poison them to deepen their sleep.”

_Then Brian doesn’t have to use his illusion to these people._ Evan’s friend was brilliant.

Then Brian coughed on his elbow, violent sputtering of the lungs, and when he drew back, blood stained his sleeve crimson.

From a distance, Brock let out an inhumane, guttural roar, competing with the viscous howl of Tyler’s wind and the ground’s bellow. With a sharp turn of the head, Evan scanned the coast, desperate for his sight to graze the image of his friend.

His eyes zeroed in on a white contrast against the brown color of the drying sand. Brock has both knees and one fist dug into the ground, and the remaining hand that was unfurling from the sand was slowly edging up.

Along with his hand was the rise of the sea in one gigantic wave, and if Evan didn’t know better, it would seem like Brock was controlling the water. Like everyone else, blood smeared above his lip, but it was him who seemed to be too hurt from using his power. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his youthful face aging decades as pallor took over on his complexion. The whites of his eyes almost swallowed the pupils. Brock’s hand reached the highest point towards the sky.

It stayed there, trembling, skin peeling at the fingertips to reveal bloody muscle and bone.

Brock was deteriorating.

Seeing that, Evan launched himself to the next bar while gritting his teeth. He wasn’t climbing any longer—he was jumping and hopping and skipping from one metal to another, weight riding his legs once more. The huge wave was now higher than Tyler and Brian, and it was rolling faster towards the Ferris wheel.

Evan’s limbs shook with terror.

There was so much wrong in this situation—Brock was dying, the tsunami was ready to set off, Evan was dangling to his death, David was trapped, and who knew where Ryan was.

When he was one bar away and the cart was a meter out of reach, David pressed his face onto the glass window, holding a mirror in one hand, his headset on the other, eyes wide and filled with fright. He was blanched, his raps on the door weak. But a huge shadow loomed above him, making the two of them slowly peaked a look.

The wave was there, looking down on them, primed to crash.

“David!”

“Evan!”

Their friends called.

“I’m coming!” Evan screamed. He was sure now that they would die, because Evan couldn’t hear the muffled version of the noises he created whenever he was in Brock’s dome. There was also supposed to be a blurry film when the shield worked, but Evan wasn’t seeing it. If he died, he would like to do it making someone feel that they weren’t alone.

When the wave curved to swallow the whole Ferris wheel, Evan didn’t close his eyes—he dared himself witness his own death as he was hung from a bar. He waited for his death a couple of years ago after all, he should have learned to calm himself for this moment.

But the pain in his chest as he faced doom told him a new story.

There was that one moment when the water reached it’s peak and had no direction to traverse but downwards. Evan saw that point—waited for that point. But when it happened, the water crashed onto something solid and invisible. A shield. Evan jerked his head to turn to Brock’s direction—his hand was skinned to the wrist, his ears bled, his eyes blank, but his chest still moved.

Brock successfully shielded the amusement park.

And when Evan expected water to flow down the other side of the dome, it didn’t. Instead, the waves gathered at the side of the coast, growing higher and higher as an invisible wall led them to the false night Lucas summoned, as if Evan was watching on the other side of a glass pool.

The shield couldn’t only be in the shape of a dome. Brock could make it whatever shape he could. Did he know he could?

As much as Evan wanted to analyze, he couldn’t just be still and be amazed there, so he seized the last bar and pulled himself up. There he found himself face to face with sobbing David.

Since the door was locked, Evan had to shake the handle violently, but it only shrunk and flattened against Evan’s strong grip. What he did, he pried his fingers between the door and the jamb—and increased the density of his fingers. In no time, Evan was peeling the door off from the cart, metal curling against his palm, scraping his skin raw.

Fresh air swept David’s hair as Evan ripped the door off, and in relief, the pale man couldn’t help but take a seat. There was blood all over his face, too, but there wasn’t any open wound. David was safe. Those bastards didn’t put him in too much harm.

Evan would have rested there, too, if only Tyler was still capable of holding this huge thing off.

“Can you walk, David?”

“Ye.” He whispered.

That was only when Evan realized he failed to prepare a plan on bringing the two of them down. Evan instantly turned to Tyler who was still hovering in the air, only a person higher than the two’s level.

Whose blank eyes welled blood.

“Tyler!” Behind Evan, David cried. But his call fell on deaf ears—he repeated calling their friend’s attention with conviction, with worry, and with fear. When the last attempt was a diminuendo of sorrow, that was when Tyler darted a look at them. But his eyes didn’t dilate longer than a second or two—they returned to being blank.

Evan cursed. This wasn’t good. Using his powers to a certain limit ate up his consciousness and left a hollow shell. Just like what was happening to Brock.

“LISTEN HERE, YOU HELMETED PIG. IF YOU DON’T COME HERE TO ME RIGHT NOW I AM GOING TO JUMP FROM HERE—”

Tyler, who was still set in a blank state, floated towards Evan and David, quite fast that the air beneath Brian trembled from where he was hovering. That caused Brian to give them a nasty look.

Evan gently pushed David back into the cart and hindered Tyler from getting to him.

“Stop.”

Without tearing the gaze away from David, Tyler’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t talk. He didn’t give a sign that he was angry or if he was…himself. Where was his friend? He was supposed to spit fire at Evan for blocking his way towards David. He was supposed to knock him down.

But he didn’t.

Before Evan’s throat could lock up, he toughened up his look and dabbed a finger to Tyler’s chest. “I want you to cushion me and David before we hit the ground.”

Finally, Tyler looked at Evan in a way that told he was figuring out who was the person he was facing. Blood was smeared all over his face—it was around his eyes and lips, below his nose, and streaming down his ears. Evan closed his eyes tightly, afraid to show how horrified he was by his friend’s state. Afraid for his pulse to louden that he would turn the same.

But he had to do something.

“Listen,” Evan opened his lids and grabbed Tyler’s arm—it was hot to the touch. “The moment we’re safe on the ground, you can drop the Ferris wheel. I can protect David from there, and then it’s only Brian you’ll have to lift. And yourself. Do you understand?”

But Tyler didn’t respond. His eyes only narrowed some more. To this, David cried out, and Evan would have comfort David if time wasn’t running out. What he did, he pulled David’s hand, and they jumped from the top of the Ferris wheel down to the ground.

As they plummeted towards the earth, heads first, Evan grabbed David’s shoulders and shook them. “I want you to scream at the top of your lungs,” The wind attempted to drown his voice, but Evan didn’t let it—he yelled louder. “ _TYLER DOESN’T RESPOND TO ANYONE BUT YOU._ ”

Then without waiting for more seconds, David shouted. “ _TYLER, HELP_!”

After a beat or two, both of them were still in motion towards one direction—straight down. Despite the resistance of the wind, Evan forced himself to be on top of David’s body to make it appear that Evan was using David as his own cushion to the fall. This should trigger Tyler. “ _NOW SCREAM AGAIN._ ”

“ _TYLER! DOWN HERE_!”

And since Evan couldn’t look up, he only saw David’s face flooded with melancholy. He bit his lips to stop them from trembling.

“Listen,” Evan sighed, “I am going to flip the two of us. I’ll make myself heavy, but I’ll be damaged. And if I’m still alive after that—”

“I LOVE YOU, TYLER. IF I DIE, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT NO ONE HAS EVER BEEN IMPORTANT IN MY LIFE THAN YOU.”

Evan didn’t let the shock of David’s words come in him and continued with his plan. He exchanged both of their places and protected David from the impact of the fall. But the air stilled around them, dusts puffing at both of their sides and spreading like wings, hearts as motionless as their bodies. When Evan looked below him, his nose touched the ground.

If David didn’t say that, Evan would have splatted flat on the ground, all guts and bones.

Tyler was descending, too, but not fast enough because now he was aware that he was past his limit. The weight of the Ferris wheel was released from his hold, and the only thing could support was his own body and Brian.

Evan, after seeing the huge metal ring coming at them, excavated a huge dent in the cement with two heavy scoops.  He then pushed David there, cement encasing a fragile body, and Evan positioned himself on all fours and prepared—

The Ferris wheel slammed on Evan’s back, and he opened his mouth to accommodate a gut-wrenching roar, his arms threatening to break into two, his knees digging onto fine gravels so hard they would prick his skin open. Every heartbeat that came was a pounding in his mind so intense that he was sure his skull would burst. But it was nothing compared to this metal being folded onto him.

Another metal hurled itself onto Evan’s spine, and he felt the skin on his back ripped. Evan gasped in pain as hot, sticky blood spilled from his nose, mouth, and from his back, traversing to his ribs and stomach.

“Evan!” David’s eyes were glistening with tears, and Evan would have given him assurance that he was alright if it weren’t for another pressure hammering down on his body. Which would have been a lie anyway, because Evan was terrified for the coming metal bars.

What if the next metal was something that could meet his limit? What if any further carry of this amount of density would make his consciousness go astray?

It didn’t matter though, once David lived, no one would die.

Evan’s vision doubled, as metals snapped and bent against his back, jailing the two of them in tangles of white metals. David called once more but it felt so far from his earshot. Both of his knees planted onto the concrete ground were shaky, his arms just as unsteady. Tears flowed from his eyes, but the liquid was denser, too. Sticky. Red.

And then pain was no longer there. Nor his heartbeats.

He was just…him. The boy who loved swings and playgrounds. The boy who loved his parents. What would his life be if he hadn’t met his friends? What if he had ran right away after being disappointed with his expectation of a playground? What if he gave up peeling mangoes after his second try?

His mind shut down. Something was forcing him to the ground, and the weight was so great that his hands wanted to claw something, to find purchases or footholds. But why not go down with the weight? It would be easier to not swim against the tide. But his limbs kept resisting the force—why? Why didn’t he want to go down? He was tired after all.

He was  ** _so_**  tired. 

It didn’t make sense. There should be a reason he was holding off the weight. If his instinct was to stay strong, then carrying this large amount of mass must be his choice. 

It didn’t feel right, though. In his mind there was gasoline crawling on the ground, slick and shiny; there were smudges of coals dyeing the walls, some looked like claws; there were smoke finding a way out of the room. 

All evidence of fire. But there was no fire. 

He had all evidence of his struggles, but he lost his purpose.

And if there was one thing he was aware of, that one last bit he knew about himself, it was this: he would soon blink out.

Like the final sigh of an ember.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! ^_^

The serenity was false.

His lids weren’t droopy, didn’t chase after sleep like what always happened when Evan woke up. His eyes weren’t alert, weren’t wide despite the series of nightmares that assaulted him. The moment he gained his consciousness back, he didn’t open his eyes.

Because they were already open. As if what he encountered was an extreme case of spacing out.

Evan remembered the day of deteriorating bodies battling against the rage of nature. He could recall even the memories where he couldn’t remember anything. But each moment in the mind that reminisced only led him to one memory: the feeling of death.

He should be dead. But he was alive. Calm. Like an ocean that shred no ripple despite the tears of the sky.

His eyes—which stared at the blank white wall—inched down to the red carpet. Down. Down. Until the foot of the bed was all he could see. Then the sight of the hem of his covers caught his attention—there were smudges of crimson across the blanket that cloaked his legs. These streaks slashed up to his torso, like careless strokes of a paintbrush. On top of his stomach rested his hands. Evan lifted them up to his face. He should be studying every angle, every wrinkle, every fingertips if the skin was peeling off of his muscles, ageing, withering, just like what happened to Brock’s.

But all he was noticing was how they weren’t shaking.

One of the windows was open, inviting the wind to lay soft whispers through the curtains, the leaves of his orchids, the corners of his blanket, the open pages of his chemistry notebook. Practically everything cheered to the little prayers of the breeze.

The clock flicking on the bedside table told him it was the same day as the day he passed out in an igloo of metal. And the look of the date finally set his heart into a sprint.

Because that felt wrong. There was not a hint of this peaceful day that suggested it was rummaged by nature just hours before. This day shouldn’t end the way it was ending. 

Maybe because he had no idea what happened to Ryan and his friends. That should be it.

Or maybe something happened after he passed out.

Evan flipped the blankets away from him, exposing red-dotted gauzes all over his legs. When he sat up and slung his feet beside the bed, he noted that all the stings he felt were simple wounds he would forget the moment he dove into more pressing matters. His back never implied any hints of pain.

It should be David again with hands that did nothing but to hover over hurt bodies, not minding the exhaustion that came with saving.

When Evan balanced on his feet, pain snapped at his temple and through his skull like a sniper bullet, reducing him into a little heap of muscle and bones on the floor. His world spun. His eyes sealed shut by his wrists, but he could  _see._

Blue. The pigment of sky. Enhanced by the absence of the clouds.

Small arms clutching a white cloth so tight they trembled.

Little legs that blurred.

Back of two men armed with shovels.

Blue.

Warmth on his wrists.

Evan flung his hands away from him, in hopes that he would also throw off whoever touched him. But when he opened his eyes that wore terror, the room was still the same, except it was so still. The wind ended its solemn chorus. Not a thing moved, not even the curtains that seemed like a painted drape now because of its stillness. From corner to corner, from ceiling to floor, the room held its breath, as if saying, ‘Listen to this. Something important is happening.’

His heart pounded so loud he thought he was heavy once more.

There was one name he wished to call, in a tone that would blur the line between hopeful and desperate. But he tucked his lips between his teeth. Tight.  He waited and waited and waited until…

His doorbell rang. Once. Twice. Endless.

Evan stood up, stumbling from the abrupt movement. A loud curse reverberated across the hallway when his head throbbed sharply, so despite his excitement, he slowed down and transferred from jamb to jamb to support himself. Once in the living room, he couldn’t take it anymore, he sprinted and practically lunged for the knob of the front door, and was greeted by a young panting boy.

Connor with a blanket hugged tightly against his chest.

Adrenalin and excitement crumbled, bringing him along with them to the ground. Bright blue eyes too big for his little face stared down at Evan, with fear tattooed on the features that copied Jonathan’s.

“Are you okay?” Like before, Evan pretended that he was, and sat on the lawn, nonchalantly pulling grasses and tearing them into pieces. Even though he very much fancied for the sun to melt, to dissolve its vibrant color and match it with something that would mirror his disappointment.

“I’m okay,” Evan assured himself more than he assured the kid as he stared up at the sky, letting his skin be painted orange by the light of the first stage of dusk. “Connor, the first time we met, you said you know me. It’s Jonathan, isn’t it? He could talk to you.”

The kid bit his lip and nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to tell that to anyone. He’ll get mad.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Evan patted the kid’s head. “What was the last thing he said to you?”

“He said that I should bring clothes today but I can’t go to my parents room for my dad’s clothes so I hope he doesn’t mind a blankie.”

“Who did he say to give the clothes to?”

“To him, of course.”

Evan’s eyebrows lowered, “Where is he?”

“I was about to go to the graveyard.”

“Is that what he said to you?”

“No,” Connor’s eyes stared straight at the street, but by the lack of more words, Evan was sure the little kid had a war going on in his head.

“Connor?” Evan urged.

The poor kid was zapped in reality and turned to Evan, with eyes that met every grass on his lawn except Evan’s gaze. “He said that he was where we expect him to be. So let’s go to the chapel and the graveyard at the back.”

A long pause passed before Evan continued. “When did he last speak to you?”

“Last night, he sounded so sad.”

Evan’s eyes widened. ‘Tomorrow’ didn’t mean anything related to Ryan. Tomorrow meant ‘him’, Jonathan. With Bryce being a mind-reader, their group might knew this, too, and the whole event at the amusement park could be a distraction. They kept Evan’s friends occupied so they could reach Jonathan first. Or they made all of them exhausted to the bones so they used up all the fight they had in them. It all made sense. Dammit!

Evan cursed as he stumbled on his feet as he got up.

With a renewed adrenalin and a spark of hope, Evan grabbed Connor by the shoulder, “I will never stop until I find him. For now, go back home. Don’t let anyone in your room aside from your parents. Do you understand me?”

Connor nodded.

Evan grabbed the blanket and ran.

~~

Ten minutes. Evan had arrived at the place ten minutes ago—winded and worried—and up until now, he was still standing at the spot where he arrived. An eye of a hawk. An ear of a wolf. Every rustling, every whistle of the wind, every chirp of the birds sent Evan in unnecessary panic—in a frantic turn to the direction of the sound, only to see natural beings doing natural things.

Because what Evan was there for was never going to be natural.

He could imagine Luke and Anthony peering on fading etchings of one gravestone to another, boots stomping on flowers so fresh they still sent fragrance even after their destruction. In the background someone played a slow and gentle song using the pipe organ of the church. He could picture them waiting, one leaning on the fence nearest to  _the_  tombstone, whistling along the song of the piano, the other dusting the headstone and its engraving to be sure they were in the right place.   
  
They would wait there, for too long, and when one of them got impatient, that was where the shovels would come in. The scuffs of metal against soil would sound off, the scent of the earth sharp and rich. They would wonder what would Jonathan be like inside a kid’s coffin.

Curled like an infant?

Bent in sickening angles?

Dead?

They would wonder and wonder until they flung the casket open—the answer would not satisfy them.

Because that was not where Jonathan would be.

The graveyard was the obvious answer for people who didn’t know Jonathan.

Evan was behind a convenient store—a place of fresh paint and polished windows. Gone were the clinked of the swing chains, the sound of sweaty palms slipping from the monkey bars, the smell of rust when he passed by the slide. There was nothing else left here but nostalgia and a clear view of the mango tree.

Yes, this was where Evan awaited for Jonathan.

He wanted to laugh, though. When he was young, to him, the tree was a towering bark that led to no end but an explosion of green leaves—it was so tall it tickled the sky. That was not Evan’s view now. He could reach a branch if he extended an arm. He could climb to the top in no more than five seconds. He could pick mangoes without balancing on his toes.

The tree looked like a tree to his eyes for the first time.

But as if it were a person, Evan had respect for it—admired it even. Because how could a motionless thing be loved as if it was more than stiff branches and cool shade? How could something so quiet and mundane be so important to people? Evan remembered before his parents died, they told him the mango tree was safe from the lightning, but it, too, was in a different kind of wither. During Jonathan’s wake, it had sported crisp autumn leaves, while the weather boasted warm sunrays and hot summer breeze.

It seemed like the tree filled Evan’s absence and the mourning he should have had.

The tree looked like a tree, but it felt like human to Evan now.

Sparrows scattered from the tree towards different directions, leaves shuffling despite having not a single hush of the wind. Whatever disturbed them, disturbed Evan as well, because now his heart raced.

But unlike the birds, Evan didn’t want to run away.

In fact, he absentmindedly limped closer, eyes pasted at the thick ribbons of roots—and these roots were moving, shifting as if it were rubber and not splintering woods. There was nothing less than violent explosions of wooden chips in the air and flaking of its bark. By this time, Evan looked for a light, an outside force that did this. He crouched, felt the ground and hoped he could pulse another earthquake. His gaze snapped back to the tree, eyes wide and terrified.

There was no earthquake.

The ground was now cleared.

There was a protrusion at the area—a hand that poked out from the ground, clutching air like a blind person would a cane, like a dying man would a loved one.

And Evan stopped advancing and gasped, observing the event from a couple of meters away.

Mud and soil flaked and ran down to its wrist, its nails and fingers splayed and strained, bony and witchy. Then another hand emerged, set in the same state as the first one. They rose from the ground, slow and calculative like vipers. Like predators.

Until there were elbows.

There was one moment when the arms were just there, still, exposed to the air, as if awaiting for the world to settle, for the hungry eyes to find them, before they performed the final act.

Then their palms slammed on the ground with a huge force that small rocks and fallen leaves were thrown out of the hands’ way like water splashing.

Then…

In one fluid motion, a body jumped out from the earth. Dust, rocks, and soil flung around him as he was suspended in the air, his arms fluttering by his side, his long legs folded, knees bent almost close to his chest as if he was disgusted by the feel of the soil in his toes.

His head was tilted to the sky and his black hair ridden with dirt was slicked back. As the Stanlow sun reached his face, his outline was rimmed with bright orange light, making Evan witness with more clarity Jonathan’s features.

The man had his eyes closed so hard his lashes were damp, his mouth opened wide as he gasped desperately for clean air, straight white teeth flecked with dirt as well.

Then there was his skin—his bare body was filmed with all kinds of grime, a human being that looked like an earthenware of importance to a rich culture. And hovering there in the air, soil caking in all angles like a bark dampened by rain, Jonathan didn’t look like a lot different from the tree.

A son of the earth. A brother to the tree. A breathtaking threat to reality.

Evan came running and threw the white blanket over Jonathan’s head, its hems billowing gracefully behind him, its vibrant white color a contrast to the film of earth occupying the surface of Jonathan’s skin. After tugging two corners and overlapping them over Jonathan’s body—his face peeking from an almond-shaped hole—Evan pulled the man down until his feet touched the ground. There was a soft whimper from Jonathan, his eyebrows crumpling in fear, but he stayed there—standing. This time, Evan didn’t have a rival—Jonathan would be where he wanted to be—no force that would yank him away from Evan’s hold.

When Jonathan slowly opened his lids, Evan was given a glimpse of an early night sky, a picturesque set of clear ocean slowly unraveling different emotions—but mostly relief.

And Evan was relieved, too. He gathered Jonathan’s hand, the sheet a hinder to Evan for knowing if his friend felt like a dead star. Or a burning comet like Evan. He squeezed it tight.

Then pictures assaulted Evan again.

A man floating and sailing through the air.

Another one shooting flames from his hands to lift himself up from the ground.

The two were near where they were.

No time to question if it was Jonathan’s doing that he saw pictures—Evan bolted, tugging Jonathan with him. He didn’t reduced his weight—but he wanted to so he could easily carry himself—and instead, he adjusted his density so he could support Jonathan when he stumbled.

But he didn't—not a single time did he stagger.

Evan led the two of them to the only house Bryce and his friends hadn’t explored yet, the one that seemed to loom over Evan whenever he passed by it.

The porch was still standing after so many years. Even the wall it was attached to was still upright. The door stood tall in brown. But the rest of the house leaned to the right, most rooms exposed for the Stanlow people’s eyes to feast on, because the walls had crumbled onto the untended lawn, pieces of evidence of the ruination of Evan’s life. Grasses—hosts to different insects—were as high as his hips, the frame of the house groaning against the wind as if already in protest against Evan’s presence. But Evan still decided to lift a foot and settle it to the first step of the porch. He had no other choice; if Jonathan would be safe in their old basement, then it didn’t matter to Evan if there would be a manifestation of his demons.

The porch creaked at the first step. It creaked some more on the next one. Also on the third. On the fourth, Evan’s foot broke the wood and his leg was scraped by the splinters. Jonathan gasped behind him and was immediately beside Evan.

The man snatched his shoulders and forced Evan to look at blue pupils sharply defined by long black lashes and shadows under the eyes. Jonathan didn’t say a word but one brave and firm shake of his head passed what he intended to say.

Jonathan didn’t want Evan to go inside.

Evan ignored him, clambered up, and burst through the door. He didn’t inspect anything, didn’t check if some things still stood where he left them, didn’t look if some of the demons were already at arm’s length. His eyes were only trained to the floor, searching for the trapdoor that hid under the slimy carpet.

He didn’t react when at his peripheral, he saw his parents’ favorite shoes he was sure he burned a long time ago.

When he found the entrance to the basement, he shove Jonathan in first, and he followed. He grabbed a lamp from under a dusty sheet and plugged it to a socket that still ran—scaring himself as to why he still knew where things were placed.

Light exploded, giving life to black shapes seeping from underneath the corners. Its buzzing sound was nothing comforting when Evan’s ears only welcomed drumming from his heart so loud he almost didn’t hear Jonathan.

“I don’t  _want_  to see you going back here.”

Evan flinched at the harsh tone.

How could Evan explain that he was willing to destroy his mind with the memories he had in this house, in exchange of a life where Jonathan lived? How could he say that to his friend, who he just met for the second time in his life? There was something not normal with this—it felt like giving Jonathan another life had become an obsession. An addiction born of guilt.

But Evan had to do this. He would not pass the chance of having his friend back.

With a hoarse voice, Evan asked, “Can you contact the others using images?”

No answer from Jonathan, and he knew Jonathan’s silence was an order to Evan to face a confrontation he was evading since they arrived here.

Evan had no choice but to look at Jonathan, who was already mid-lunge, his blanket seeming like wings of white feathers draping from his spread arms. Without a word, Jonathan slammed on Evan’s body, knocking the air out of his lungs.

There was shock, of course. The momentum of Jonathan’s body was such a huge force that he almost couldn’t believe when his arms slid gently around Evan’s torso. He thought his friend was angry, but the tight embrace he gave Evan sang a different melody. He let himself breathed. He let himself be honed without the tension knotting on his shoulders and spine. He let himself drop every worry, every wound pretending a scar, every single moment of the past, and further on, Evan found himself shifting his head to the gentle slopes of Jonathan’s neck and clavicle.

A rest. Finally, a rest.

Evan had his eyes closed, but he could smell the smoke of the fire he used to burn his parents’ things. The light of the flame danced just on the other side of his closed lids. His fears clawed at him—he could feel the sudden blow of air from failed attempt of snatching Evan.

When he flaked out into Jonathan’s arms, he knew the basement was watching with wide eyes, the dark silhouettes quieting. Because Evan’s dream wasn’t comprised of all the things that gritted and gnawed on his soul and sanity.

_On one sturdy branch of the mango tree, little Evan and little Jonathan stood with a stature of a knight, their background was the morning light finding its way through the gaps of the leaves. They didn’t let others see them, they just stayed there, counting how many mangoes were there to give their friends on the next day._

“ _How many mangoes are we going to give to Tyler? He punched me yesterday.” Little Evan frowned at the memory._

“ _Let’s give him four.” Little Jonathan declared._

“ _FOUR?!” Evan was skeptical._

“ _Yep,” Jonathan’s nod was stiff. “Four super ripe mangoes. Once he clutches them, they would burst to his face.”_

_And Little Evan laughed at the scene running in his head, imagining Tyler’s cheeks turning pink in anger, mouth sputtering curses he wasn’t supposed to say yet._

“ _How many mangoes would you give me?” Jonathan asked._

_Little Evan was confused by the question, “Are you kidding? This tree is yours. You can have as much as you want. You don’t need my permission!”_

_Jonathan was only silent, but he nodded._

“ _How about you? How many mangoes will you give me tomorrow?” Evan said his sentence in a slow manner, because he was aware that something had bothered his friend with what he said earlier._

_Jonathan’s gaze lifted up from the ground to the peak of the tree, one hand caressing the trunk with a rough graze. Eventually he closed his eyes and let himself feel. Evan was only staring at his friend’s calm face, and his aura was really contagious because now serenity climbed onto his ribs, circling around his heart, slipping between his lungs too._

“I’d give you the tree,” A whisper of a voice too low to be a kid’s. “If it meant you’ll have a place you can call home.”

Evan opened his eyes only halfway, his heartbeats too faint against his ears. Someone called his name, but it was too far away. Sticky fluid ran from his palms. Something dangled from his wrists.

What was he doing?

Where was this place?

Why was he tired?

Who was he?

“Evan?! Wake up!”

“Wait. Someone else is in there?!”

“David! Is David there? I can’t wake Evan! He is so … light.”

“Jonathan?!”

“Is that my uncle?”

“I need David! Dammit!”

“He’s here! But he is in no shape—”

“Tyler, back off! I’ll do it.”

His name was Evan. That was everything he knew about himself. And that he finally found a home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys want to follow me on twitter, here is my username: @StillNotJqck I use that account to complain about the hardships of writing and life lol <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favorite chapter so far. ^_^ Enjoy!

**Jon’s POV**

His father once said, if a person was scared, you let them be scared. Let them tremble, and let them cry. He stressed to him that to be able to overcome terror, one must feel the terror itself. Because once you’re scared, then there was nothing else to do but to deal with it.

“But Jon,” his father had crouched in front of him, a palm squeezed Jon’s shoulder. “If a person were scared, you let them be afraid and you let them face their fears, but never leave them alone.”

Jonathan heard the whispering of his memory when he watched Evan slowly turn around the room and eye the chipped walls and webbed ceiling as if they howled and roared at him. Evan’s body would snap towards a direction, then he would retreat away from it, his eyes swam in terror—the whites almost drowned the hazels.

But despite all of the things his friend could see that Jon couldn’t, Evan still chose not to acknowledge his fears as he asked, “Can you send pictures to others? Like you could with me?”

Words left Jon. His mind screamed at Evan for putting himself into damning situations if it would put Jon to better ones. He was angry that this wasn’t the first time Evan had done this, angry that Jon couldn’t prevent this from happening. To make it all worse, Jon was the reason Evan was suffering.

But his rage streamed onto a downward slope when he saw Evan’s fear as he faced Jon. As if, there, where Jon was standing, was a monster of talons instead of teeth, of eyes instead of skin. And Jon wouldn’t want that to happen. The whole world could turn everyone into a monster that could hurt Evan, but Jon wouldn’t be one. Because, no matter how angry he was, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he became one of Evan’s fears. 

That was what broke Jonathan into a sprint—he lunged at Evan for a sharp embrace.

Sheet rustled against the red and white jacket. There was nothing in the embrace but a gesture of letting his dumb friend know that he wasn’t alone—that there was someone who could carry the weight with him. 

A little later, Evan was resting his face onto the hollow collarbone of Jon.

And Jon forgot how hearts worked.

One moment, they were as silent as the air he breathed, the next moment it was an orchestra.

And Jon interpreted everything: The cymbals crashed when Evan embraced Jon tighter and the bow grated against the violin strings when he felt Evan’s pulse calm. And many other else. It was a pleasant surprise. 

That brought Jon into realization; it wasn’t only Evan who needed other’s presence.

Jon did, too.

And he liked the sensation, of physically holding someone, of feeling the breath against his skin, of arms guarding his body. Jon loved the warmth that seeped into his bones—a gentle, caressing graze that said he was cold after all. He wished it would take refuge in there for Jon to have something in case of drought.

With this, he sent Evan one of his fondest memory. Well, not a memory but an imagined situation had Jon not died. It calmed Jon whenever he was too agitated in his ghostly phase.

And after that, Jon sent images to Connor. He concentrated, sweat breaking out of his forehead as he let his mind travel to the kid. When Jon was in the room he once owned, he couldn’t see Connor but could sense his mind. And wherever Connor was, Jon gave him the image of Brock’s place and then Evan’s old place. His nephew was a smart kid—he would inform others and would come here. For now, he had to take care of Evan, who fell asleep while tucked in his hold.

Jon, without being at his strongest, let the two of them cascade down and settle on the floor. Despite his built figure, the man was surprisingly light. But he was starting to get cold, so Jon shared what little warmth his sheet could offer.

For a long time, Jon was satisfied sitting there, holding Evan on his lap. Letting Evan’s eyelashes tickle the skin on his neck. Everything was well, until he felt that Evan’s coldness was too low.

“Evan,” Jon’s hands flew to hold the man’s cheeks. They felt like icicles against his touch. “Evan, wake up.” He didn’t stir. When Jon shook him, it felt like he didn’t shake a body. and  and at first, he thought he was becoming a ghost again. But he tried to grab other things and his fingers didn’t go through. It was his friend—he weighed a paper. He shook his shoulders again and again that he was sure he was going to have paper cuts. And it wouldn’t have mattered, his friend didn’t wake up.

There was something sticky that flowed down Jon’s back where Evan’s hands secured his hug to Jonathan. When Jon touched his back, he already knew what the warm, sticky liquid was.

His hand flew to Evan’s pulse. It was too faint.

So he tried one more time, “Evan, wake up. Dammit!”

But his friend remained immobile.

“Fuck!” Jon screamed as he held his dying friend.

Jon forgot how hearts worked. No matter what emotions he had—anger, fear, worry—it beat all the same. If he was excited, it was loud. If he was nervous, it was loud. When he heard a creaking noise above along with Connor’s voice, it was loud. But it was the brain that determined what the heart had gotten into.

Jon heard himself yelling at someone, but all he remembered was asking for David, David coming, and Connor jumping onto Jon’s arms.

There were so many emotions he was experiencing.

Being alive felt so foreign.

**Evan’s POV:**

Evan’s consciousness always broke to surface whenever something touched his forehead. Sometimes it was cool and wet, but most of the time, it was warm. Evan liked warm—he always leaned forward to the touch, hoping for more. But whenever he did that, the warmth went away. By the absence of it, he would always force his eyes open, but his head would throbbed so hard that he would just go back to sleep again.

The first time he woke up without having a splitting headache was a very bright morning, the light from the window spilling directly onto his bed. Evan was in his room, curled on his bed, the silken sheets crumpled inside his fists. He brought it closer to his chest as he engulfed the air.

Something was amiss.

He was alone.

The other side of his bed was undone.

The second time when he woke up, his mind not yet wrapping around the thought that he was awake, sleep immediately pulled him back in.

The third time he woke, it was a night of storm. His windows rattled at the bellow of the thunder. Trembling in unison were the wilting plants hanging on the ceiling, as if they were still frightened to die despite the obvious wither that colored them brown. There was only one lamp that was open, and it was the one on the bedside table where a few meds bordered a glass. Its light was sufficient to give him a clear view of anything at arms reach and enough to catch his attention when shadows moved.

Like those trembling orchids that seemed to reach down like bony fingers with talon nails.

Evan, himself, was shaking, too. In both fever and fear. He twisted to his side, pulling blankets close to his chin, only to see quivering hands that gripped a drenched towel. Evan looked up to the towering silhouette sitting on the other side of the bed, the light not quite reaching their face. When lightning struck, it gave Evan a tantalizing gaze of Jonathan wincing. It was him—Evan could never not recognize those blue eyes.

The man then clenched his teeth, as if disgusted how his body reacted to the loud sound and sharp light.

And Evan almost forgot: others should be also terrified of storms, too. After all, they experienced a lot of pain and suffering before they became children of lightning.

“Why are you here?” His voice had a different scratch to his throat—it came out hoarse.

As the lightning faded, Evan returned to staring at the silhouette. “I’ve nowhere to stay,“ Jonathan’s tone lacked of emotion. And Evan was surprised to see himself getting into a sitting position, despite feeling so tired and sick. His head throbbed and ached the more he rose from the bed. Until his nape rested on the headboard, Evan did not breathe a sigh nor release his clutch from his bed covers. But he did give Jonathan his full attention nonetheless. “That’s not what I mean.”

Jonathan’s hand appeared into the light once more and pressed the towel on Evan’s forehead. “What do you mean, then?” The weather was chilly enough as it was, but it paled in comparison to Jonathan’s icy tone.

Evan gave out a shiver. Whether because of the cool cloth touching his skin or the frost in his friend’s words, he hadn’t an idea. “I mean, you can stay at Brock’s, too. They’re complete there. They’d be happy to take you in. You don’t have to be here with me, Jonathan.”

“You don’t want me here.” A whisper. A stab in the heart. Jonathan’s arm retreated to the dark, the green sleeve and pale skin being swallowed by the shadow the faint, flickering lamp light couldn’t battle. Water splashed in the basin as Jonathan squeezed the cloth, and then it was on Evan skin once more. But this time, the cloth was left resting on Evan’s forehead.

Evan shook his head gently, “That’s not it.  _You_  don’t want to be here, doing all this. You’ll want to stay with the others. Meet them all over again. Relax yourself. Live your new life.”

There was silence.

Which wasn’t silence at all.

It was the kind of quiet that gave way to all kinds of noises from the world—the rain pattering on the roof, the clap of thunder, the whir of the passing cars and the puddles getting ran by the tires. Yet despite all that, he could still hear the sorrow. There was a long time spent listening to this song and Evan hated every single melody, every single second he spent hearing what the world couldn’t drown.

When the weight on the other side of the bed was lifted abruptly, the springs sighing, Evan knew the sadness was gone in exchange of something aggressive. Jonathan’s footfalls thudded across the shadowed part of the room, halting only to open the door. Evan expected it to slam against the jamb, but it didn’t. Not yet.

“Stop being like that,” Jonathan’s voice came with fury. “Stop thinking that there is something wrong, something not alligned with the world when it starts prioritizing you.”

Then the door finally finally closed in a way that could compete with the intensity of the thunder.

Evan hadn’t slept that night.

The next morning, when he was sure his fever completely vanished, he changed from his pajamas into a more decent ensemble, and went straight to the living room. There he found Jonathan sleeping on the couch that couldn’t cater his height, his legs dangled from the arm rest, both elbows locked around a cushion. With a groan, Evan crouched in front of him. He was only there to feel if Jonathan had caught the fever Evan had, but…

. . .he realized how angelic Jonathan was.

Now that his friend was free of grime and that the sun was so bright it was impossible to have shadows, Evan finally got the chance to study Jonathan’s face. His pale skin was honoring the dark explosion of freckles bordering the underside of his eyes and sprinkling across the bridge of his nose. His damp lashes and the traces of tears honed the story that told he was scared all night. Through his slightly open mouth, he breathed softly. His chest rose and fell in a constant and boring rhythm that made Evan smile.

It meant he was alive.

But that little hint of a smile twisted into a frown as he settled a palm on his friend’s cheek—he was cold despite the slightly warm temperature of the AC. Evan scolded himself as he got up and returned to his room—he should have asked him to stay last night.

With one huge scoop, Evan gathered a heap of blanket from his bed, brought it to the living room, and tucked Jonathan in it. His friend didn’t even stir, and Evan wanted to laugh at how deep he slept. Marcel could throw a big party in here, and Jonathan would not have an eyelid twitching.

Evan then prepared breakfast—bacon and eggs seemed like his friend’s type of meal—and settled a plateful on the table beside the couch, pairing it with a steaming mug of coffee.

Then Evan went out to get groceries, but the whole errand was a constant urge to go back home and see Jonathan. And see ocean blue. Sky blue, sometimes. It was him who ran in Evan’s thoughts all throughout shopping, and he was so preoccupied that he picked up the wrong stuff and only realizing the matter right after he counted his change.

Evan wasn’t bothered. He even noticed himself getting all excited as he head home, humming to a tune he hadn’t heard since he was sixteen. In his mind, he imagined Jonathan sitting at the center of the couch, hair tousled, the cup of coffee encased by his hands. And he would smile at Evan once he arrived home.

But as Evan rounded the corner of the block, he already spotted Jonathan outside the house—at the corner where two hedges met, his forefinger running over a crisp fragile leaf as if he was comforting it to its death. His face was blank. Evan made sure to silence his footsteps as he strode closer, that grasses cushioned his weight.

Evan sat on the lawn, settling his groceries beside him, and he watched Jonathan.

The two of them stayed like that under the glaring sun, the light encasing their bodies with a glinting yellow tone as if the two of them were afire. The neighborhood was quiet, not even one car passed by. The birds sang a song, the trees and bushes hummed along—like a silent devotion for the quieting of the world. The only thing that broke the silence was Jonathan. He stepped further into the hedge, rustling the leaves, and faced the sky all the more.

He broke the silence, but he was serenity himself.

Jonathan tilted his head high as he raised the leaf with both hands, like an offering to the sky. Like a ceremony. A gust hit him, billowing out his clothes. But that was not what really captured Evan’s attention—it was Jonathan’s face. This was exactly what he looked like in Evan’s dream, where both of them stood at a branch of the mango tree, where he gave Evan a home. Even though his blue pupils were hidden, his closed eyes bore no less calmness than the clear sky. For they were as relaxed as closed eyes could possibly get. His black hair that swelled from the touch of the wind accentuated his paleness as it framed his face. His lips were even curved at one corner, showing off a ghost of a smile.

Jonathan was so beautiful. There must be a huge tower of anger inside him if it could get past all of this tranquility.

Then the wind picked the leaf up from Jonathan’s palms and took it away from his touch, then from both of their sight.

“I’m sorry.”

Evan couldn’t detach his eyes from his friend, as if he was a blind man seing for the first time. And nothing pained him more when he forced himself to look at his hands as he tore blades of glass, because Jonathan was turning to look at him.

“For what?” Evan refused to let his feelings invade his tone, but it was in his cheeks, red and spreading warmth.

Jonathan dropped to the ground beside Evan, back hunched, elbows slung on knee caps, hands dangled from bony wrists.

“For being angry at you last night,” His friend gently hugged his knees, settled his chin on them. And Evan forgot himself once more—for this was another side of Jonathan. Gone was the serene. Gone was the angry.  This one was once more the melancholy.

And he thought Jonathan was at his most honest when he was sad.

Evan fixed his gaze at Jonathan, and noticed how little he became in just a matter of seconds. He looked at his eyes—at how the gloss over the sky blues was enough to make Evan raise a hand and settle it on his friend’s arm.  This was the side of Jonathan he saw in the woods, different from the one that was guarded with annoyance and aggression.

“It’s okay to be angry.” He squeezed his friend’s shoulder. "It’s okay to be angry at me.”

As if Evan poured a hot water onto his friend, Jon’s eyes widened, a gasp escaping from his mouth. All the sadness was now nowhere to be seen—even the serenity was untraceable. The soft surface of his friend was now covered with jagged edges and splintering corners—all features sharpened.

That was the wrong thing to say for Jonathan started pushing himself up into a stand. “Can we go to Brock’s?” Jonathan’s tone rose in irritation. “They’ve been expecting us for a week.”

“A WEEK?” Evan exclaimed.

“Yes, Sleeping Beauty,” Jonathan, who was heading towards the door with the groceries,  looked over his shoulder. Evan was ever so thankful for the sunlight for hiding the blush that occupied his cheeks because of the name. “You were so knocked out that I have to check your pulse for every five minutes because you looked dead.”

The door slammed shut.

Living with someone felt so foreign.

**Jon POV:**

The two of them walked their way to Brock’s. Jon, who was angry and had longer legs, paced faster, leaving Evan a few meters behind. He was frustrated at Evan, but he was mad at the sky too, at how clear it was, at how sober it appeared to be, at how vast it was. How could something be this enormous couldn’t do anything but just watch? Watch Jonathan to be so conflicted with his feelings.

It wasn’t the first time he was alive, but it was the first time he was feeling  _everything_.

He felt the tightening of his stomach when he thought Evan was looking at him.

He felt his heart wanting to burst and stop at the same time when he knew Evan was looking.

He felt the scarcity of his breathing when Evan touched Jon’s shoulder.

He felt the rising vile from his throat when Evan was being himself again—too altruistic, too kind.

All of these invaded Jon’s chest and skull—and they came at him not as a graze but as a stab. Everything was too amplified that they clouded rational thoughts. 

He wanted to touch Evan.   
He wanted to hurt Evan.  
Jon was a forest fire, or he was the last sob of an ember.   
There was no in between.

Three hours later, he found himself at the front of Brock’s house, the sun high and mighty behind him, his shadow painting the base of door jet black. Jon lifted his fist to rasp on the door, but Evan grabbed his wrist.

Despite the hot weather set by the day, the gaze Jon pointed at Evan was something that dismissed all the warmth the sun was giving them. “What?” Jonathan grumbled.

“If I,” Evan hesitated, “Our friends…I-They’re oblivious about some things that happened in the basement. And I know there’s a possibility that we’re both going to lie to them. In that case, can we talk once we go home?” Evan loosened his hold. “I have so many questions and I don’t know where to find answers.”

And Jon would have backed down to the softness of Evan’s voice, to the vulnerability, to the words that became an evidence that his friend was lost. He wanted to help him, but Evan had to learn. He had to realize that his words, his presence, him in general, matter. If he were sad, then he had to be sad. Or he had to fuck the world up. But he didn’t need to reduce himself into something smaller than all the people around him. He had to realize that getting most of the things he wanted didn’t need permission from others at all.

“I would,” Jonathan knocked the door twice without leaving his eyes from Evan, “If I chose going back home with you. You don’t want me there, last time I remember.”

And before Evan could protest, the front door opened and presented Brock with bandage wraps around his hands. And Jon would have checked on Brock and ask as to why it wasn’t healed when David could cure them. But he saw a view of Marcel and Tyler, both grinning at him, both happy.

The memories were onslaughts. Jonathan remembered the night they beat up Evan—these two had shoved him around without knowing what Evan had gone through. They nearly killed him. Didn’t they realize that Evan had needed them too when he was away? Didn’t they realize that Evan could easily just go to them, but something was stopping him?

They should have been smart enough to realize that something must have been wrong.

The moment Jon walked inside, he purposely went to the direction of the two, not to meet their palms that was raised high, but to shove them out of his way like a curtain on a stage. And Jon felt the tension the moment he dropped his ass on the sofa, leaned so far back that his head tilted to the ceiling, his eyes closed.

“What the fuck is the problem of that bitch?” Tyler’s tone was hesitant, as if he didn’t know if Jon was joking or not.

“Jonathan, do you want to explain yourself? Huh?” Marcel was on the verge, too.

“What happened?” Brian’s voice whispered, but he might as well yelled because Jon could hear him all the same.

And David answered, “He, uhm. I think he has issues with Marcel and Tyler.”

And Jon had.

“But what did we fucking do?” Marcel yelled. “He’s been dead until last week!”

“Jonathan, can you please fucking explain why you’re being a fucking bitch?” And, of course, that was Tyler.

“Jon?”

There was no reason for Jon to face the fuckers with kind eyes, and a minute ago, he was determined to do so. But here what had fucking happened: Evan called him Jon. In a tone that questioned but didn’t judge. There was only pure innocence in his voice—it sounded like whatever Jon would say, he was going to believe it.

And it calmed Jonathan, to his own dismay.

So Jon took a deep breath and leaned forward, elbows on the knees, his hair hid his eyes that were gazing at his laced fingers. “I’m not a touchy person nor a delightful one. You fuckin’ know this. What is there to worry, you fools.”

And just like that he was soaring in the air. “You dramatic motherfucker. Come here!” No amount of panic and screaming and cursing made his friends bring him down. He even tried to crawl away, to reach for Evan, the way he reached for  him when he was in the woods.

Because it felt like he was being dragged by the same force once again. His heart was so wild he was sure it was going to crash into his ribs and escape from this very scared body. His pulse pounded so loud for so long that he didn’t hear the cheering of his friends as he suspended in the air, inside the prison of Tyler’s ability. And tears did flow—Jonathan was just damn lucky that they fell when he was hurled into a water.

And Jon sank. There, he let go of his worries and fears for this situation. Bubbles from his nose and mouth sought the fastest way towards the surface, like they were in a race or they couldn’t wait to get far, far away from Jonathan.

His back touched the cold tiled floor of the pool. He closed his eyes and tried not to mind muffled voices above. He did not receive his lungs protest for air. He would, eventually, but not yet. Not just yet. Just a little more peace and quiet and water.

“Jon? Jon!” Then there was a splash.

**Evan’s POV:**

Evan walked in across the hallway that seemed to taper onto the door that led to backyard. Outside was where the pool was located. The door was a rectangular oak wood, its handle matched the floral etching. Despite the long life of this door, it was still heavy and sturdy as he pushed it open to reveal a colorful scenery.  He was at a front of the woods, every leaf displaying a different tint of green. But they all have one thing in common—the sunlight could touch them no matter how low into the branch they were. The only thing that separated Evan and the woods was the pool of rippling blue. The clouds and the sky reflected on it, and Evan would have had a hard time guessing which was which if it weren’t for the cruel and unjustifiable image of Jonathan underneath. He was sinking deeper into the water, and with a little trick of the mind, it would look like as if he was already swimming in heaven.

Evan couldn’t see if he was okay down there, but he was not moving. Everyone noticed it too because conversation quieted. When more than a minute passed, Evan began taking off his shoes, stumbling on his feet. “Jon? "Jon!” Evan saw Brian’s smile retracted when he saw Evan’s reaction, and that made his friend dive into the water first.

Brian was a black smudge travelling across the white tiled pool and towards the immobile person at the bottom. Once they met, Evan leaned over more to the edge of the pool, eager to see what happened. To his relief, his two friends started moving and up. Brian appeared first with a disgusted look thrown at Jonathan, and the latter broke the surface only to let out a hartily laugh.

“You guys, first impressions last, you know. All I have gathered from the moment I walked into this house is that you all worry a lot. A LOT.” And he laughed once more, making others chase him. Tyler jumped first with a flamingo floatie. Then Brian again with his long limbs and broad shoulders that were meant to glide over the waters. Brock remained at the edge of the pool, soaking nothing further than his knees. David and Marcel dove together in a smooth fashion that there was no splash, and they traversed the water with a dolphin kick they did in sync, as if they were in some competition. Evan refused to get into the when he just recovered from his one-week coma.

His friends tried to drown each other. Brian and Tyler tried to grab Jonathan’s ankles and pull him under. Because of this, Jonathan cursed and kicked everyone who came near him.

“I’ll kick you in the nut! Get away from me, you bitch!” Jonathan screamed at the top of his lungs as Tyler and Brian swam to him once more.

“Come on, Jonny boy!” Marcel teased, “Show us your powers!”

Jonathan was having a hard time climbing onto the other edge of the pool, his clothes pressing to every curve of his body. His eyes swipping to every direction to try to spot all of those who wanted to drown him. “Fucking touch me and I’ll kill all of you.”

The three—Marcel, Brian, and Tyler—laughed as they pursued Jonathan like sharks from different angles. Jonathan sighed and gave up in trying to climb out of the water, as if he knew things were inevitable. He was glaring at Evan as three moving bodies dove for his legs. A moment later, the air was filled with curses and cries and splashes.

“I will kill your first born, Marcel!”

“Tyler, get off my leg!”

“I swear to God, Brian, if you dare touch me—you bitch!”

Brock guffawed, and Evan, who was sitting beside the man, couldn’t help but chuckle as well. It was a good day—Evan could already affirm that. There wasn’t a lot of times that they would forget how they could gather the force of the wind or change the scenery for a person, or close any open wounds. This very moment, no one was using any ability and this was the closest to normal they could get. And it felt nice.

But Evan would never have predicted that the feeling of being normal would be something rooted deep in nostalgia.

“I think this is how it’s supposed to be.“ Brock sighed and tilted his head up, squinting at the sun. "The seven of us being just boys. Alive and stubborn.”

Since the lightning, not once did Evan thought about having a normal life, aside from today, and that was maybe because he never  _not_ felt his ability—it was always there, a phantom limb, a third eye, a long fang.

David jumped out of the water, breathless. “This is really Jonathan, isn’t he?” There was a wet flop when he sat beside Evan. “This is really how he would act if he grew with us.”

Evan eyed the wriggling body under water, kicking shins and shoving punches at teasing friends. “How do you know that?” Evan asked in a hushed tone, distracted by the amount of bubbles that surfaced. “We didn’t see him until that night, David.”

But when Evan turned, David had this small smile on his face, looking down to where their friends were playing. “He always came to save us, Evan. He saved you and Brock when we were kids by revealing himself to Brian and Tyler, despite not wanting to. He saved us that night. He resurfaced from the grave the day we were in a war with Ryan at the amusement park. ”

Evan realized that David and Brock didn’t know. Ryan and Bryce chose to attack the amusement park because they knew Jonathan would be alive again that day. They timed every thing—the distraction and the unearthening. But he wouldn’t change Jonathan’s image to them—they were right anyway.

“And,” Brock added, slamming a foot on the water, causing the three of them to cover their heads with their arms from the shiny beads of water. “He still likes to be in charge. I can see with his actions that he still isn’t the type to be ordered around.”

“But he always dropped mangoes whenever we ask him to.” Evan argued.

“But he didn’t drop down whenever we ask him to.” David countered.

“He still doesn’t do what he doesn’t want to do.” Brock concluded. And Evan realized that Brock was right, and it helped the former to realize the meaning of the exchange they had last night. Jonathan wanted to take care of Evan—it had been his choice after all—and Evan, who was skeptical at having someone keeping him safe, had pushed his friend away.

“Does it matter, though?” David leaned his head downward to have a peek of Evan’s face. “Even if this isn’t what he was supposed to be, the most important part, he can now become what he wanted to be.”

A slosh sliced the air towards the three of them, making Evan’s face drenched. Brock sighed, as if he knew this would happen, while David crossed his arms over his chest as water dripped from his hair and ears **.** Marcel, Tyler, and Brian desperately hung on and clutched at the edges of the pool because their laughing were making it hard for them to stay afloat. On the other hand, Jonathan was at the far back, his body turning towards the woods, but Evan caught the tug of his lips at the funny scenario.

Evan found himself smiling, too. What a lovely day.

___

The next hour, they were all seated around the table full of beer and iced tea. Glasses were coupled by plates of many kinds of snacks—mostly junk food. Evan was beside Jonathan, and across from them were Marcel and Brock. David and Tyler completed the other side, while Brian smoked on their right.

Brian asked Jonathan about what happened to him after he died, and Evan shot Brian a glare. It was a protective behavior, and he swallowed the little bit of self-consciousness like a dry pill—because Evan knew how sad Jonathan before he was alive. He thought that perhaps it would be a hard time to answer this when he wasn’t fond of expressing his woes.

It would be a pain to remember it all, wouldn’t it?

But Jonathan leaned forward, chugging the remains of his cup, his eyes were discreetly fixated at Evan. Reassuring.  _I got this,_ his eyes seemed to say. So Evan forced himself to calm down.

“The first time I woke up, it was when Connor was born. It was two yers after I died. The next time was when Brian’s ex-girlfriend dumped him.”

“Hey! She was cheating!”

“Yet she was still the one to dump you, dumbass.” Jonathan scoffed, then cleared his throat to continue on a serious note. “I remember that day. It was the first time you hung out in here, because Marcel and Daithi’s house were full of their other cousins. Third time was when you all lived here altogether to lessen the chances of exposing your abilities to your families. The last time was when Evan…”

Jonathan’s hesitance vibrated inside Evan like a guitar chord plucked wrong. All of a sudden, Evan was in need to be intoxicated so he gulped his beer in one go, poured some more, hoping that the tremble of his hand remained unseen. He ignored Jonathan’s pause and pretended that he wasn’t interested—he didn’t care if everyone noticed his lack of eye contact when everyone stared at him.

Evan knew what time of his life when Jonathan showed up. It was when he was beaten up by drunk bastards and was sent to a hospital. There was more to it than that, but Evan didn’t want to remember. He was on his third cup of beer.

But one thing was sure: David was right— _Jonathan does show up during those times his friends need him._

“I was there when Evan was sent to a hospital because he was assaulted by drunk people on the streets. Since then, I didn’t go back to sleep, but every day, around the time I died, I get dragged back to my graveyard. There was a force that pulled me back to go back into that box. I can only get out when the sun rises.”

_So that’s what it really is._

"You’ve been with us all this time,” David whispered. It wasn’t even a question—it was a conclusion of a decade-long story. Beside him, Tyler leaned back into his chair with a couple of blinks. Marcel chewed his inner cheek as he tried to think, and Brock was wide-eyed and speechless. Brian, who was at the corner of the room, pulled a last drag of cigarette, blew out the smoke into the air, and spoke, “We couldn’t see you, right?”

“Hmmm,” Jonathan settled his elbow on the armrest of the sofa, his hand supporting his chin. “Connor could. Evan—”

“—was the only one among us who could see you?”

Jonathan shifted his gaze to Brian without moving from his casual stance, while Evan snapped his head towards the latter, shocked and confused.

Brian grinned at the two of them. “Son of a bitch. I’m right.”

“You think you’re smart now,” Jonathan sighed as he sank deeper onto the couch they were sitting on, as if he was tired of all this talk.

“Yeah,” Brian sat on the floor and started explaining, “Evan is the quietest, most secretive among all of us. At Bryce’s basement, when I didn’t include him to be deceived by my fog, he kept on grabbing something in the air that was not there, as if he too was delusional. Then later that night, when he excused himself for a cigarette break, he came back bloody. Last one was when he was so sure about the amusement park. Those three events were so uncanny for Evan to do.“ Brian rolled and played a stick of cigarette along his fingers. "The last one finally made me suspicious. You see, Evan was not insistent on anything especially when everyone opposes. He goes with the tide, not against. It means he’s sure there’s something going on at the amusement park, but he couldn’t say why.” Brian leaned forward and stared at Evan “I figured that you were hiding something from us. And what else could it be when we already had a bloody confrontation of your past? Then it must be something not about you alone. It was about us, too, and whatever it was, it would affect every single one of us. I thought of Jonathan, but it was so impossible. I only confirmed everything a week ago.”

Evan filled his cup with more beer as a way to deal with the feeling of being naked because of Brian’s words. Wouldn’t they care anymore about what he had to say in the future if he was ever so predictable? It wasn’t obvious but he was biting into his cup, gritting his teeth even. After drinking all the contents of his cup, Evan went for more and repeated the process with his teeth, this time more intense. His head started to become dizzy.

“Yeah, Brian has 200 IQ but his power is the most useless.” Tyler chidded.

“The fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“Repeat that to my face. Right fucking now.”

“I’m really glad we have you back, Jonathan.” David reached to tap Jonathan’s shoulder.

“Jon,” Jonathan clarified, “Jonathan’s too long.”

Jon. Jon. Jon. The name played in Evan’s mind repeatedly, making him smile despite the fresh distress he was feeling. He had called him that before, hadn’t he? It felt so smooth rolling on his tongue, like he was meant to say it all the time. Jon. Jon. Jon. Jon.

“Aren’t you going back to your family?” Marcel asked. Or was that Brock?

Jon sighed, and settled his cup on the table, empty, and later on, it got blown away by the fan. “Not yet. I’m still getting used to solid limbs.” Jon raised both of his arms sideways. “Keep forgetting I can’t go through walls anymore.” Evan looked at Jon to see if there was sadness on his features his voice wasn’t suggesting—and there wasn’t any trace. In fact, he was pretty casual at telling this story.

And Jon must have noticed that he was staring, so he sideyed Evan—the latter became conscious and hid behind his drinking cup and looked away.

With a new clean cup, Jon poured beer and continued speaking, “I have talked to Connor, though. It looks like he understands I can’t just show up at home. I told him we’ll have plenty of time now to hang out.”

Basement. Evan hiccuped.  A question stirring inside his mind, but the room wrung itself before him, walls spinning in a violent pirouette. The sight was nauseating and forced Evan to shut his eyes hard and stop any train of thoughts. He already tasted vile at the lining of his throat, but he tried to breathe slowly and deeply for him to prevent throwing up. Ten. He counted to ten, but he only finished the count after four tries because he kept on forgetting what number he was on. When he opened his eyes, the room was once more righted, and he could focus on whoever was talking again.

While speaking words that didn’t register to Evan’s mind anymore, Jonathan was shrugging his jacket off—that familiar jacket sporting white sleeve and red bodice, which had a patch of letter V on the left chest. It was Evan’s. Jon was wearing Evan’s clothes, and Evan liked that.

“Earth to Evan, hello?” Someone snapped his fingers in front of Evan’s face. “You’re already drunk?”

“No,” Evan shook his head, trying to figure out if that was Brian or Tyler. “No, of course not.”

“So what happened at the basement?” The kind tone made Evan certain that it was Brock, because his vision blurred to know everything using his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Evan rubbed his eyes. “I was scared because I didn’t want to see that place again.”

“I’ll tell you what fuckin’ happened,” Jonathan—was it Jon now?—had a voice filled with hostility. “This scum brought me to the basement of his old house. It might have been a good decision for  _me_  to go there, but not him. Can you imagine how much awful it was to just watch him lost control of his ability and turn himself light? I swear, he was so light I thought I’d get paper cuts whenever I try to wake him up. I thought my hands would go through when I tried to pulse him.”

Evan needed to be sober, because that was not right. Jonathan did something, and it was the reason he became so light. It hadn’t been because of the monsters in the house, it was because of something Jon did… .If he could just clear his mind, he would remember. Dammit.

Someone took away the cup from Evan’s grip, “Evan, you’re clearly drunk.” Jon scolded him. “I think I should get him home.”

"I’m not that drunk,” he managed to murmur.

“Come on. I’ll take you two,” That was Marcel. Evan was sure, even though his eyes were closed because of dizziness.

“Will you guys be here tomorrow? Practice?” Tyler asked.

Evan’s arm was slung on someone’s shoulder, and he smelled coffee. It invited a giggle out of his system, and at the same time, it made him want to sleep more. They both left the couch to stand, and that was the time Evan realized he couldn’t walk—the floor was a staircase of goo, constantly erupting and shifting.

When Jonathan spoke, his voice rang through Evan’s ears and vibrated throughout his body. “We have to. This guy…” A hand patted Evan’s head, “he hasn’t learned to control his abilities at all. In fact, we should all practice using our powers, now that Ryan is definitely out there.”

A collective I agrees and Hmms echoed inside the room.

“I do, too.” Evan whispered, but he doubted anyone heard it.

Then Evan and Jon were envelopped in darkness. The feel of the ground against his feet was lost, but only for a few heartbeats. The next time it was back, his shoulder slammed agaisnt it. He groaned in pain.

“Dammit, Marcel!” Jonathan cried.

“I’m sorry. I’m too drunk for precision. Do you need help to carry him to his room?”

“I got it. Thanks. Go straight home.”

Evan was thrown into his own bed, and as he bounced onto it, he recognized the scent of his fabric conditioner. And he didn’t want it. Where was the fragrance of coffee earlier? 

Evan didn’t know what he was saying—he just knew his shoes were being taken off from his feet. When fingers grazed the sole of his left foot, he chuckled. “That tickles.”

His clothes were being pulled off of him, but he was too drunk to be embarassed. A moan escaped, “I’m okay,” as his face fell back onto the pillow after Jon tugged Evan’s shirt over his head.

“You always say that.” The quilted blanket flew and covered his body up to his chin—back was the damp cloth on his forehead.

Evan swatted Jonathan’s hand away. “Can we just sleep? You can sleep on here if you want.”

Jonathan sighed. “Evan, I don’t sleep.”

That was when Evan’s mind cleared a little bit—because he forced it. It’s the first time Jon offered something he truly felt, and Evan had to be in the moment. In sobriety. He lifted his head from being buried into the pillow to look at Jonathan, his sad face back. This was the one he didn’t want to show others, didn’t want to show when it was daylight. It was so rare that Evan always thought it was mythical, but whenever he was at the brink of that idea, there would Jon go, showcasing it once more.

Despite being nauseous, Evan groaned as he tried to lie on his side, to see Jonathan clearly. “Remember earlier? Remember what I asked you?”

“You said a lot of things earlier. I can’t remember.” Jonathan’s features fell back into nonchalance, but Evan saw it more as a defense mechanism.  Jonathan was trying to run away again, and this time, Evan couldn’t be stopped from chasing his friend.

So he shook his head with conviction. “Jonathan, I don’t ask people a favor or a request. I don’t ask anything at all. You know me.”

And Jonathan sighed once more.

“Would you rather I ask questions tomorrow?”

To that, Jonathan’s eyes flashed. “Do you know why I am so fucking angry with you? You always think that your needs always fall under others’ comfort. You always seek permission for things that don’t need permission from but yourself. You always let people overpower you because you’re thinking that you deserve it. No, Evan, you don’t deserve to be beaten by your friends when what you’ve gone through was worse. Stand up for yourself. I won’t always be here to fucking scold you.”

Despite Jonathan’s outburst, Evan couldn’t help but smile, “You can just say I can now ask questions.”

“You need this yelling,” The cloth was back to Evan’s skin, harsh and hard. “Help you grow a spine.”

“Do you promise you’ll tell me the truth?” Evan, like a toddler, had his eyes wide and twinkling at Jon, ignoring the latter’s temper.

“One-hundred percent.” Jon said with a softening voice, in a failed attempt of hiding a smile.

And Evan treasured that moment, that one successful attempt of making Jon happy. He might not manage to repeat that. Maybe Jon would harden his heart tomorrow again, or Evan would just become unlucky with his words and thoughts on the next days. So he hated that seconds later, he had to wear a serious note in his tone and firmness on his face. “Can you tell me what really happened at the basement?”

Jon shrugged. “I sent you a dream to ward off your nightmares. Then you lost control your abilities.”

“That’s your point of view then.” Evan pulled his blanket to his shoulders, still lying on his side to face Jon. His memories were still hazy, but he could remember important ones now. “When you sent me that dream, I was so relieved. And to be relieved in a place that is the source of all my darkness is a special kind of comfort. That. That feeling took control of my ability. And I wasn’t aware of it. I was not. Without knowing it, I let my guard down. My density was lessened, and as it lessened, I was going over my limit—I was using my ability after all. Skin peeled from my wrists, I felt them. I lost recognition of where I am and who you are. All I knew was that there were voices. And that you gave me a new  home.”

The whole moment he was speaking, he evaded staring at Jon. All he saw were his plants that seemed to be losing their wilt to a greenish color. His table, where his college books and notes were located, was tidy and dusted. He tried his best not to compare the blue of the night to the blue of Jon’s eyes, because Evan would be biased—for he already picked a favorite.

So when Evan finally drew a breath after his long speech, he hesitantly peered at Jon. And Jonathan, too, was trying  _not_  look at Evan. He was busy wringing the cloth onto the basin, many times than necessary. The cloth never went back to Evan’s skin anyway.

When he realized his friend wouldn’t give in, Evan pressed, “Why did you do that, Jon? You can give the tree to Connor—he is your nephew after all.”

Once again, Jonathan squeezed the damp cloth and rid it of excess water, but this time it did not go back into the basin—he just held it in his hands. “People see you as the quiet one. Some people may even recognize the sadness in you, but no one does anything about that anymore.

“Every time I wake up from that wooden box, I check in on our friends if they were alright. Then Connor. But all throughout the morning, I thought of you. Looked forward to seeing you. I will float for the whole day, across the cities, to get to you. To make sure that there would be no other incident like-like—”

“Like that night when I got beaten up,” Evan could recall the scene over and over and over again, and he would not feel a thing. Unlike earlier. Because now, he realized, that it was no longer the same. The Evan then and the Evan now were two completely different people with different wishes. Since he reunited with his friends, every day, he would actually wish to live for many months, because he was actually experiencing a life where his abilities were not treated as something abnormal nor special. However, since Jon made his first appearance to Evan, he did not only wish to live, Evan also put effort to get far away from danger.  He actually wanted to take good care of himself.  “Thank you, for not telling the others.”

Jon looked sideways, directed at the window. “Why did you change your mind?”

_Evan, with his red jacket, was the only vibrant thing along the alleyway between buildings. No streetlight dared spark. No star blinked a glimmer. As the night deepened, he was like a blood smearing the whole city with a scent the wolves were attracted to. Evan went in there for a walk—he didn’t want to be recognized by someone on his usual route so he took this one. It was the anniversary of his parents’s death, and he would be lying if he said he’d moved on already. He was crossing the street to get to the next alleyway, so lost in his mourning, that he didn’t notice the speeding car. For one moment, Evan couldn’t move. The next heartbeats, Evan wouldn’t move._

_He would see his parents again, all he had to do was to be still._

Evan smiled sadly, his eyes unintentionally tracing the stitches at the edge of his blanket. "I looked back, Jon.  At the side of the street. And the street light flickered open, with a buzz. And I felt it. I felt the world looking over its shoulder too, to see me, to stop me. Like it cared after all if I died. So I jumped out of the way. Those drunk people beat the shit out of me for the high blood pressure I caused them.”

"Are you…” Jon bit his lip in hesitation, looking down on his hands. “Do you still think of dying that way?”

Evan shifted his gaze to the window where he had a rectangular view of the darkness outside. “Not exactly. I think of dying in a car crash or a knife in my guts and I think of how sad I would be if I leave this world too early.”

Evan caught Jon staring at him with a surprised look in his eyes. Not a muscle moved on the angelic face, except for the tears that welled and brimmed on his eyelids. And when Evan thought his friend would look away, he did not—he just rubbed his eyes against his sleeves and stared back at Evan once more. “I’m glad. I’m glad you want to live now.”

With a wrenching heart by the sight of Jon’s tears, Evan reached for his friend’s wrist and massage them. “Please don’t cry, Jon.”

And that only invited unlimited rivers of tears that ran along the outline of his cheeks. The angel wept, but despite the obvious sign of sorrow, he was smiling.  "Fuck you, Evan.“ Jon completely discarded the cloth on the bed as his hands were busy trying to wipe away his tears. Evan laughed, because Jon looked cute as he struggled to smile and not cry at the same time. Eventually, Evan had to push himself to sit and help his friend dry his tears with his own fingers.

"I’m okay now. Thanks.”

When Evan brought his hands down, it was a conscious effort—for, somehow, he didn’t want to lose his hold to Jon.

“May I ask you a question?” He said instead.

“Shoot.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“I don’t want to.“ Jon sighed. "I’m afraid that when I open my eyes, I’d be back to that coffin. As the days pass by, I get more scared about going back there because I’m solid now. And since I am a tangible entity twenty-four-seven now, I wont be able to make it out of there anymore.”

The two of them sat on the bed; the light they have was of the little lamp behind Evan. And it wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough, it seemed—to spill light and battle the darkest shades of shadows the two of them hid under their skin. They were two broken people, one who didn’t know how to live, one who was scared to live.

“Do you know what I think of you, Jon?” Evan grazed his fingertips onto the moose embroidery of the beddings. “I think you’re not an aggressive person at all. You’re trying to make people believe that you are but you’re not.” And with his words, Jon flinched. So Evan decided to leave the colorful stitches alone and clutch Jon’s hands in a way century-old vases were held. “You just cover your worries and terror and sadness with a film of fury. I saw how scared you were in the woods. I saw how sad you were in Bryce’s basement. You can never hide it from me, even if you can hide it from yourself.”

Evan squeezed Jon’s hands. "What I’m saying is you can be anything when you’re around me. No one will hold it against you here. For one, I’d like to know you better for who you really are, without using some kind of memory.”

And it was true—Evan was not satisfied from the occasional view of Jon’s soul. He was already drawn to the firefly’s light, and even if it turned out to be a forest fire, then Evan was prepared to be burnt.

“Takes one sad boy to find another sad boy.” The angel’s hands slid from Evan’s, but when he looked up at the cherub’s blue eyes, they alight. “I will try. Don’t blame me if I get you frustrated.”

Evan grinned. “Never will I blame you. Never will I be frustrated.”

There was silence.

Which wasn’t silence at all.

It was the kind of quiet that coated every edge, every corner of the room, like a salve. It cured all the tension and it gave way to the loudest sound in the room: two heartbeats that finally found one rhythm.

“Can you sleep beside me tonight?” Evan offered.

“I already said I can’t sleep.” Jon murmured and was back with his basin task once more.

“No, Jon. You  _won’t_  sleep. But you can. I will hold you tonight.“ Evan pushed the basin to the side and he gently took the cloth from Jon. The latter had no protest, but he looked so lost looking into his empty hands. "And if something drag you out of my grasp, I will fight it. And if I can’t I will come with you. I promise, Jon. I promise. I can’t give you a home like you did,” Evan gestured to the whole room, "but I can keep you safe.”

Jon faced Evan. The two of them gently laid on their side, hazel eyes never leaving blue ones. Evan held Jon’s hands. Or maybe it was Jon who was holding Evan’s hands. It didn’t matter. Tonight, the two of them would sleep, and there would be no shadow too dark nor memory too vivid to make them feel scared. Not anymore. They had each other.

Evan closed his eyes.

The next time he opened them, his face was pressed against Jon’s neck. The cold night was a contrast to their warm bodies, and Evan sank himself into his friend’s embrace some more, some more, some more. Jonathan, who was deep in sleep judging by the even breathing, tightened his arms around Evan.

Evan Fong, for the first time in his life, felt welcomed. It wasn’t a feeling that someone accepted him into their life—instead, he was chosen to be included in someone’s world. He was wanted.

His pillows were left discarded on the floor.

For the first time in a while, the night was fast. The bright light screamed morning, and Evan awakened to blue eyes filling his vision. He could get used to this. “Good morning, Jon.”

And Jon just stared at him, as if figuring out how to answer. And Evan stared, too, for a long time that he grew to hate those seconds when Jon blinked. His eyes’s vibrant tint was a competition to the day’s morning light.

Jon didn’t answer, but only pressed his lips on the crown of Evan’s head. Evan slept a couple of minutes more.

He woke up with clattering outside their room. “Jon! Evan! We need you at Brock’s house right now!”

The two of them jumped out of the bed and sprinted to the living room, where Marcel was panting. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his chest pumped fast. The moment Marcel lifted his head to look at them, his hands raised to grab a hold of their elbows. In a blink, Jon, Evan, and Marcel were in the living room of Brock’s house, witnessing David kneeling over bloody Lucas. Kryoz stood nearby, only leaving his gaze from his friend when he noticed Evan and Jon’s arrival.

“You,” Kryoz pointed at Jonathan. “It’s because of you.” He charged, and Evan jumped in front of Jonathan, his pulse at the ready.

But Kryoz suddenly hit something invisible, and they all turned to Brock who had his bandaged hands flashed. “Leave our friend be, you asshole.” Brian pulled Kryoz back and near David and Lucas.

And Kryoz , miracoulously, did not surge for more fights—he crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow. “Ryan will come and get us all. Especially him.” Again, he pointed at Jonathan. When Evan looked at his friend, he was once more in a mask of indifference, but this time, Jon could barely pull the pretention off.  His eyes were wide, despite the nonchalance of his stance.

“Ryan will kill and murder us, just to get access to Jonathan’s ability.”

And everyone gasped in surprise. Except Jonathan himself.

_What is Jon’s ability?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time Jon's POV is included, and I enjoyed writing them. ^_^ His point of view will be in the rest of the chapters as well. <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: *Minimal gore.

**Evan’s POV:**

“I surrender!”

Two hands rose up in the air. Fingers were splayed so wide, so high up—coated in thick red blood and contrasting to the blue sky—that Evan couldn’t possibly miss them.

With the sudden surrender, Evan would be forced to drop his density to the lowest he could make it be and without accidentally slowing his heart rate to a stop. He had done it thrice in the last week they were practicing but he was being idle during those times, and it would surely be a different thing now when his mind was so bombarded with adrenaline and pressure.

Evan was there in the air, like he was a blast of wind himself, his legs still full of momentum after his lunge, his clothes and hair rustling as if they were a part of hedges on this backyard. Then the pace of his heart skidded to a stop; one moment there was a demolition inside his rib cage—all debris, all suggestion of vandalism—and the next one, silence.  He thought he had killed himself, made his heart perpetually still, but before he hit the ground, a faint thud returned to him from inside his chest.

Evan’s feet landed on the ground, his knees and his hands followed. A drop of blood from his nose flopped and slid on a blade of grass, as if it was pretending to be a dew born of a misty night. He was on all fours, panting, mouth stretched wide open for more air to rush in. He felt like he was about to pass out, but the taste of air running on the walls of his lungs convinced himself to stay awake.

After a while, the sounds of the world developed from murmurs—slowly loudening—until they were in their original volume. However, the cheers of his friends, the claps, the birds that chirped now overwhelmed Evan, causing him to wince.

A hand bulled him up, forced him to his feet—Brian’s. Since his friend knew couldn’t stand on his own yet, Brian slung Evan’s arm on his shoulder for support.

“And the winner of this fight is Evan!” As if Evan wasn’t weak enough, his friends slammed their hands onto his back with matching teases and praises. Lucas, his opponent earlier, limped towards him, the closer he got to Evan the farther the stream of blood traversed from the wound on his forehead, across his eye, and down on the pale man’s cheek. Lucas stopped in the front of him and offered a hand, and Evan balanced his feet on the ground and left Brian’s bracing so he could shake the other’s hand for being a good sport. Kryoz who was standing right behind Lucas blew smoke into the air, still uncaring, still bored-looking. 

Then Evan’s eyes caught something beyond the platinum blonde man.

There, at the corner of the yard, sitting cross-legged. His eyes were the extension of the sky—like another place where mild spring breeze lived.

And like an anchor to the deep ocean floor, Evan experienced a pull that made him slip from his friends’ grasp and stagger towards Jonathan who met him halfway.

The moment he was within Jon’s reach, as if his body knew how to let go being strong when Jon was around, Evan’s knees folded. His head slammed on Jon’s shoulder, his hands clutching the front of his friend’s shirt.

“I got you,” Jon wrapped an arm around him, “Don’t worry.”

Evan concentrated in breathing, Jon’s scent coming in with the air he breathed, and then let the relief spread on his chest. “I’m not worried,” he whispered against the fabric of Jon’s shirt.

He was brought to the corner of the hedge of Brock’s lawn, a grunt puffing out of his lips as his bottom hit the ground. The smell of freshly cut grass overwhelmed all other fragrance there was, including the sweet smell of the beautiful man who crouching in front of him. Jon was wearing a lazy smile that had Evan sighing.

“I didn’t think you would win, so didn’t put my bet on you.”

To that, Evan’s eyebrows hooded and his eyes fluttered several times in disbelief, “Excuse me?”

“I owe David a mug. He said he has a favorite from one of collections.”

“Jon, you know I love all my mugs! Why would you do that?”

But when Evan saw how Jon recorded his flabbergasted features–how his eyes wrinkled in the corners as they danced at the sight of Evan’s face–he knew he was just pulling his leg. Jon fall on his bottom too and burst out a laugh, and Evan had to press a hand on his ribs to ease the pain as he chuckled.

But eventually, he had to stop laughing, to shift all his focus to the person in front of him.

The sunlight bounced off Jon’s face, making him glow from ear to ear, leaving no space for shadows to take refuge to. He was so bright that Evan had to reach and gently brush his thumb on his cheekbone, just right below his right eye, to know if he was real and was not an after image that would be printed across his vision when he stared too much into the sun. 

Warmth seeped into his fingers, confirming there was something alive beneath his touch.

Jon was surprised to the touch and he stopped laughing, but then his lids lowered, concealing those eyes that told things the mouth wouldn’t—relief, peace, affection.

And it looked like Jon was addicted to Evan’s touch, because his head was leaning more into his hand.

“Hmmm,” Jon hummed. “I like your warmth. I should keep you.”

Evan leaned back onto the hedge, “That’s all you want from me. You hate every kindness I show to you or to anyone. You’ll be a terrible keeper.”

“True,” Blue eyes shone with amusement, “So would you keep me instead?”

 “No.” But his hazel eyes were softening, telling the opposite of his answer.

Then the next game was announced. All their friends formed a ring around Brian who took in charge of picking names from the bowl of papers. Lucas and Evan shouldn’t be selected. Jon, too, because until now he wouldn’t tell anyone what his power was and it would be unfair if they would fight him without a clue how dangerous Jon would be.

Since that night, when Jon willfully slept, his change was utterly obvious and desirable. He was transparent—he didn’t mask his sadness nor fear. When Evan asked, he would not hesitate and would divulge what had sent him into a negative temperament. He was still antagonistic at times, but only when he was being his playful self and not because he had a reputation to uphold.

At least, he was like this around Evan.

When Lucas and Kryoz had sought help from them, everyone urged Jon to disclose the nature of his ability—Jon wouldn’t. His eyes would flash when people bothered him for it, and people would step back as if they saw the glint of a blade in his eyes. Some days he would answer, when his mood was far from sour, but the answer would be different for the next one who asked. Tyler and Brian were pissed about it, and that was partly the reason Jon wasn’t included in the games—they just wouldn’t admit it.

A couple of days after, when they returned to Evan’s house after a long practice, Evan pushed his luck.

“ _Jon?”_

_The man groaned as he shrugged off his jacket. “I know it.”_

_Evan grabbed his friend’s elbow. “Please tell me.”_

_Guilt swiped across Jon’s features, and Evan didn’t miss it. After that, Jon’s face morphed into something as strong as a brick wall, and it was so evident at the nonchalance he was displaying that he was being on his guard again._

“ _Jon,” Evan sighed softly, pulling Jon’s face and massaging it with his fingers to loosen up his muscles. “I know what you’re doing. Can you really think I won’t see through your façade?” The sharp edge of Jon’s gaze melted into a look of resignation, the same time his gaunt cheeks gave in to Evan’s touches. “I want to protect you. To hurt everything that’s going to hurt you. I want to defend you from Ryan. And I will. You know I will. Even though I don’t know the places you’re most vulnerable at, nor the times Ryan could possibly go for you, nor if you are safe with me as your company—“_

_Their lips touched._

_The room held its breath._

_The more Jon closed his eyes, the more Evan’s flew wide._

‘ _One, two, three,’ he counted in his mind, ‘four, five’ six…’_

_Evan still hadn’t woke up._

_Did it mean this was real?_

_When Jon withdrew, Evan immediately sought answer from Jon’s eyes, not about his ability, but about the kiss. But those blues weren’t wavering, weren’t anything less vibrant especially when they were mixed with certainty and assurance._

_Those palpable eyes made Evan feel foolish for looking for an answer._

_When there was no question at all._

_Jon ducked his head a little bit, “I’ll tell you what my power is, but not now. Give me time. There are…things I’ll have to face when I do that, and I’m sure I can’t deal with them yet.” The man stood straight, pulled at his hair, and released an exasperated breath. “As much as it fucking kills me to see you upset, I just couldn’t bring it out to the world yet.”_

_Evan had nothing coherent to say after what just happened, so he gave up on asking for Jon’s ability that night._

The next players were Tyler and Brian. Jon and Evan groaned at the announcement, but the people around Brian whined louder.

“Oh, fucking great. These two would set off World War three.”

“Should we change the rules and make them fight while gagged?”

“Anyone of you developed your powers? Like making a certain area soundless?”

“Among all of us, Brock is most likely to develop that.”

“Sorry,” Brock shrugged. “You all know you wouldn’t have to ask if I had it.”

“You little bitches should shut the fuck up or you’ll be next after I defeat Brian.”

“Excuse me, but it will be you, Tyler, who’d water these grasses with your own blood.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you!”

And there was the start of the very thing they dread—the war of insults and profanities.

“This is going to be painful to watch.” Jon commented.

“Let’s not watch then.” With a wince, Evan pushed himself to his feet and pulled Jon with him. “Help me find a clearing in the woods. I found a seed in my lawn and I want to find the perfect place to plant it.” 

“Alright. Let’s go.”

So the two of them ventured the woods, but it was difficult than usual because Brian’s fog reached here. He had to use his ability over Brock’s place, so the neighbors and passersby wouldn’t hear nor see the extraordinary things happening in the yard. But it turned out Brian couldn’t control that much amount, because the smoke clawed this deep into the forest.

It was hard to see Jon because of these thick fog, and Evan was thankful to the branches that smacked his friend’s forehead that got him occasionally cursing.

_His friend._ It now felt wrong to call Jon that. But what else? What word could exactly fit into the description of what they were? Even Evan himself had no clue what was happening—he was only aware that he hadn’t felt anything like this…and that he didn’t want to lose  _it._

When Jon’s cursing diminished, Evan’s mind became occupied by the nature of his ability. There were only two clues, the skill of sending images into one’s head and the capability of reviving himself in a span of twelve years. But the two had no connection at all. Was it possible that the lightning gave Jon two abilities?

“Jon?”

“Yeah?” his voice echoed a little bit far away from comfort. But Evan still felt relief for knowing that Jon was still around.

Silence lingered as if the time stopped, but the tails of fog waving before him were pieces of evidence that told Evan the time didn’t halt at all. Before he could control his tongue, the words were out of Evan’s mouth, “Can I guess what your ability is?”

Of course Jon didn’t answer. And the woods sounded surprised too, for the trees’ rustling quieted down and the birds chittered less and less. Even the air refused to sweep the dry leaves from the ground for a moment, refused to move Brian’s cloud.

He found an opening from the fog, a hole of green at the end of the white hazy tunnel. The white tendrils of smoke gave Evan a last lick before he stepped into the clearing where Jon stood at the center.

Evan painstakingly paced closer, like a little owl inching towards the cliff for its first flight. “Are you angry at me?” 

Jon shook his head. “I’m thinking.”

And Evan let him think.

The leaves above them were scarce, so light filtered through and into the clearing, basking Jon and Evan with splotches of shadows and light spilling from their head to their shoulders, to their feet, dancing across their faces when the wind blew. There was a stream nearby as well, the sound of water flowing made the place even more serene. Petrichor in the air was present, but the scent of grass was stronger that if Evan closed his eyes, he could easily imagine that he was standing at the center of his lawn.

This was the perfect place to plant the seed.

Everywhere Evan looked, the beauty of nature in this clearing was evident. The only thing out of place were Evan who wore a blue shirt and Jon who had a red one on. They were a vibrant contrast to the myriad of green and brown in the middle of the woods.

“Tell you what,” Jon cut Evan’s awe in nature, “You can get to try to guess once a day.”

Evan’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Jon turned to him with a smile. “Yeah. I’d tell if you guessed it right.”

Evan tilted his head sideways, his face scrunching up as if he tasted suspicion on his tongue itself. “This is too easy. What do you want in return?”

“I don’t want anything in return,” Jon said softly as his head tilted up to the sky. “I actually want to tell you. But you’ll have more chance of knowing when you try to guess than me having the fucking courage to tell you.”

“Are you scared to tell me?”

“Very.”

Evan’s eyes never left Jon’s. What could possibly scare Jon? He thought long and hard until it hit him right across his face. “Is it me?” Evan whispered. “Am I the reason why you won’t tell anyone?”

The world stopped.

The wind stilled.

No one breathed.

“Yes.”

Evan pressed his lips to Jon's—they were as warm as a mid-summer gust, as soft as silk. It was a lot different from the first kiss, to Evan at least. For one, their first kiss made him crazy in panic and surprise, made him too happy that he lost all his wit and his ability to talk right after. On the contrary, this one kept him sane and sober, as if it wanted to let the two of them to be able to savor the feeling of being loved, to feel that one thing the world deprived them of.

To show them that it was possible for broken people to feel whole.

The kiss was sweet, and he could taste chocolate from Jon’s lips—he could even taste himself, taste the coffee as their lips brushed once more. Their fingers found each other and they laced, just like how their legs would in the morning. 

Today was one of those days…that Evan was thankful for that lamplight that flickered open when he was about to let himself die. And Evan was ready, to repeat his sad, traumatic life all over again, if he knew he would experience something as blissful as this. For Jon, he would do it in a heartbeat.

There was a smile on Evan’s face when he pulled back, his heart in riot inside his chest. Jon chased one last peck from Evan’s lips before fully retreating, a dimple creased at the end of his lips as he beamed. "I’m a happy man.” Jon murmured as they touched foreheads. “You make me happy.”

Evan closed his eyes and took a firm hold of Jon’s fingers. “I’ll always be by your side, Jon. You have nothing to be scared of when it comes to me.”

“Oh, Evan,” Jon’s arms wrapped securely around him, tighter and tighter that Evan felt his friend’s terror himself, “I’m afraid of everything. Of everything. When it comes to you.”

It was right there when Evan understood. Of course. He knew the feeling himself, of not wanting to sleep at night, afraid that Jon wouldn’t be there when he woke up. And yes, those times when he woke up, when his eyes were still hazy from sleep, he would look at Jon and he would appear like he was translucent again. And he would panic right there and then. Evan would carefully reach for the man’s bare shoulder.

His fingers would hover closer and closer and closer to Jon’s skin and his chest would pump faster and faster and faster. Tears were already bordering his lower lid. His lips would pout and frown and tremble at the same time, because what if this time, Jon wouldn’t go back to his human form? What if his human form was borrowed time all along and—

His fingers would hit the soft skin of Jon’s shoulder—they always did, but Evan wouldn’t be any less afraid every time he thought Jon was a ghost again—and he would cry and gather Jon in his arms, not minding if he would wake up the man.

But Jon always slept so deeply so he never woke up in episodes like those.

So there in the woods, they stayed standing close to each other, letting the world move and do its thing without them. He let Jon feel that he wouldn’t go anywhere. And Jon did the same thing.

A long time passed before Jon’s breathing smoothened. Then Evan fished the seed out of his pocket. “Here. I want you to have this.”

The two of them stepped back, their hands and the seed in between them. “What exactly is this seed? And why’s it important to you?”

Evan gave a little shake of the head. “I’d seen my grandmother hesitate in planting this seed before she passed. I don’t exactly know what it is, but I want to know. And I want you to have it.” He passed the seed onto Jon’s palm. “Nature loves you so you’re the perfect person for the job.”

Jonathan raised both eyebrows and stood higher. “Really? You think nature loves me?”

“I think your ability concerns with nature.” When Jon smirked and shook his head, Evan cursed. “Damn. This is going to be so hard with just one guess a day.”

“Why did you think that my power has something to do with nature?”

Evan lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I thought that maybe you draw life from trees and plants, that’s why you’re here. Alive. It made sense, you know.”

“Yeah, it does.” Jon nodded, “Nice guess, though.”

“I’ll know what it is by next week.”

“Oh, really, sweetheart?” Jon smirked at Evan.

“Yes, darling.” Evan beamed at Jon.

As they stood there, the fog was supposed to give the surroundings a washed out color, but Evan noticed it started getting thicker to an alarming amount—the trees were vanishing one by one as white smoke wove through their barks. The birds starting to breathe in the illusion the fog brought, and then they scattered away, plucking out leaves from trees in the process.

Evan’s heart, which was only thrumming with warmth a moment ago, dropped straight to his stomach like an icicle to the ground. Hair rose on his skin as he shivered. Brian was the only one in their group who never lost this much of control of his ability, not during the school bus crashing on Evan, not during the battle in the amusement park. Even now, he was still in control of who not to influence because Jon and Evan were still aware of the reality.

So for the fog to disperse into the deeper part of the forest in thick chunks, there must be something going on.

When he looked at Jon, Evan’s eyes were sharp. “I have a bad feeling about this. Let’s go back.”

Jon had all the colors of confusion and worries on his face, but in the end, he nodded firmly.

Evan sprinted—Jon dashed, too, but he didn’t know if he followed. Now it was Evan who was taking scratches from the trees he couldn’t see, and the little bites of the branches made themselves known because of the stings as he met the wind with his running body.

With the crunch of the dry leaves on the ground under his soles and the occasional trips from the curly roots, Evan knew he was still in the woods—but now he wasn’t certain where exactly in the forest he was. The fog closed in on him, as if he was inside a room with clouds as walls. Or maybe he ran so fast he reached heaven.

Evan slowed his legs, his heavy breaths joined with the fog. Knowing that he was lost, he started taking his time and walk. But it appeared he didn’t have to—the fog started thinning out. He saw the opening to the deep cave of smoke and bolted right to it.

But once he was out of the fog, he found himself face to face with Bryce.

Panic caused Evan to harden his pulse and stand in a fighting stance despite being incredibly exhausted from the fight.

“Don’t bother, Evan. You’re already in the trap.”

Then a handkerchief covered his nose and mouth, a strong hand practically pressing it into his face.

Chloroform. It smelled chloroform. His eyes widened, and he attempted to scream for Jon’s name, but his consciousness was the first to leave him before his voice.

_____________________

The next time Evan regained his consciousness, he was seated on a cold metal chair, his arms fastened by rough fraying ropes. His head was pounding and splitting so hard that it forced all the food he ate earlier out of his mouth—he didn’t know if he was coughing or choking or just heaving, all he knew was that he felt awful physically and mentally.

The room he was in was a concrete chamber where no light from outside spilled in. The flicking light bulb above him was too little to expose all corners of the place, but it helped him assess if he had injuries that needed urgent attention. Thankfully, there was not.

But he still knew how screwed he was—his drumming heart made sure of it—so he wiggled his body to attempt snapping his binds, which didn’t help and only caused the ropes to gnaw on his skin some more. He tried setting his density at its highest, but his body was still frail from all those practice and running so he couldn’t turn himself heavier.

Despite the angry thrumming of his pulse inside his arteries and veins, he still heard other presence in the room. It was there—the rustling of fabric in every movement, the soft exhale of breath. Evan didn’t normally hear all of these, but being in a dark place where his eyes were practically useless made all his senses heightened.

“I know you’re here. Quit this game, Bryce!” His voice came back to him in the form of echoes, and he felt so pathetic for screaming, for being heard but not listened to. With bared teeth, Evan leaned forward against the tight ropes around his torso, trying to snap them as he added denseness to his solid state. But it didn’t work again. He was still too weak—Bryce and their crew really did have the timing for this.

Footsteps thudded, not one pair but three, all from different directions towards Evan. The closer the scruffs of their shoes sounded, the harder it was to breathe, the harder it was to pretend he wasn’t scared. Then the light slowly fell on the tips of noses, cheekbones, eyelashes, foreheads, and then on three whole faces—Anthony, Bryce, and Luke.

Evan, despite being like a frightened cat in his situation, glared at them straight in their eyes. “How courageous of you. Three against one. A bound one.”

Anthony stepped closer—his face not showing if he was affected by Evan’s taunts—exposing more of him and what he was holding: a wooden board. And he was sliding it under Evan’s left palm, scraping against the little nails of the metal armrest.

Evan tried to yank his hand away from Anthony, fear shaking what feeble foundation of bravery he had. “W-What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry about this, Evan.” Bryce knelt in front of him, a frown pulling his lips down, his tone really filled with regret. With that, Evan began tasting rust at the back of his throat as if he was already stabbed in the chest. If Bryce felt bad enough for the things they were going to do, then Evan was sure his life and sanity would be at stake. He had to get out. How, though?

“Jonathan is the only person that can bring Ryan back.” Bryce revealed. Evan was already informed that Ryan wanted Jon’s power, but he didn’t know it was to bring him back. 

Despite his wariness still ringing loud, Evan couldn’t help but ask, “Isn’t Ryan already alive? You said this to us.” If not, then there was a big chance that Jon’s ability had something to do with reviving dead people.

With wide eyes and eyebrows rising in disbelief, Bryce slowly pushed himself back up. “What, your friends didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

"Or,” Bryce tapped his chin, a sly smile stretching across his face, “your attention is too focused on trying to shove your fingers up someone’s bum that you didn’t ask what happened at the fight in the amusement park.”

And even though the two of them never did something like that, Evan’s cheeks and ears still caught on fire. “Shut up! Shut your dirty mouth!”

“None of you saw Ryan at the amusement park, but your friends heard him. I heard him. So he’s alive. He is just in a different state.”

Evan was so confused about everything, but he didn’t have a chance to think it through because he noticed Bryce nodding at Luke, a signal for Evan’s doom. The bearded man stepped into the light, too, with a glinting kitchen knife in his hand, the glare reflecting on it blinded Evan as if it were saying he didn’t want to see what would happen next. But Evan couldn’t help but stare; He could see how sharp it was—the scalloped etches running on one side as they reached into the pointed end of the weapon.

Evan gulped, his head shaking from side to side. The embarrassment he had was replaced by dread and terror—both of his hands started shaking. His heart pumped heavily not for his abilities but for his own safety, because he knew—he knew his blood would splatter in here. "N-No! Stay away from me!”

Bryce held Evan’s right hand, his breath shaky as he exhaled, and Evan hated that face that showed how he genuinely sympathized. "We want for Jonathan to work for us with regards to Ryan. And when he does, we don’t want him sabotaging us. The only thing we could think of is to take people important to him.

“I’m really sorry about what we’re going to do to you, Evan. Just endure this night. After this, you’ll never be hurt again. We just need an evidence we can give to Jonathan that we have you.” Bryce was retreating to the shadows, light sliding off his face.

“Get back here, you shit! You’re going to let your minions do it for you, huh? Come at me, motherfucker!” Evan had never released such strings of profanities, but he was already breaking because of helplessness. In his mind, he tried to call Jon or send pictures to the other person.

_This can be two-way, right? Please work. Please, Jon. Help me. I need you. They got me. I don’t know where I am. They’ll hurt me, Jon. They’re about to. They’re holding a very very sharp knife._

And if it did work, nothing happened.

Then Anthony held the wooden board for it to stay in place under Evan’s left hand, Luke hovering over the bound man pointing the knife down.

Then the tip of the blade bit at the wood, just between Evan’s ring finger and pinky.

“No.” Evan muttered slowly as realization set in. “NO! GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU MONSTERS.” He tried to kick them but he realized his legs were bound, too.

Anthony tsked and held Evan’s fingers harder so he wouldn’t dislodge the knife from its bite on the wooden board. Also, to prime Evan’s little finger.

“Are you ready?” Anthony peered at Luke who had sweat forming above his brow, both appearing nervous at what they were about to do. That didn’t bring any relief or comfort to Evan.

“No. Nothing would make me ready, but let’s do this.”

Evan wiggled his arm, making the ropes rub stripe wounds on his skin some more. Every attempt of freeing himself, of wringing his wrists around the ropes, he sent a tiny call to Jon. Sometimes it was a call for help, but sometimes it was a goodbye—nothing ever mattered anyway, he still wouldn’t get to see him one last time.

“Stop. Stop. Please.” Tears started streaming down his cheeks as Evan pleaded, attempting to get through their conscience. “I’d do anything. I’d become one of you. Please. Just don’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry, man.” Anthony shook his head and tapped cheek with his free hand. “We just want our friend back. He means a lot to us just like Jonathan means a lot to you.”

“No. No. No. Please. Please.” Evan leaned forward to have a peak at both of their faces and try to see any evidence of humanity. “Fight me fair and square. Not like this. Not when I’m bound and—”

Blood sprayed across Evan’s face. When he looked down, he saw his little finger tumbling from the wooden board and onto the floor.

Evan screamed.

**Jon’s POV:**

It was easy to lose Evan in the fog, and Jon knew that. His man was a runner, since they were little, he ran as fast as a bullet.

Jon had been surprised to see Evan’s pale face when he turned to him earlier, when he was just smiling at him a heartbeat earlier—and Jon knew something was wrong. They ran like crazy, and it was good that they were separated so they’d have bigger chance of catching anything or anyone who wanted to escape to the forest. And who would seek refuge to the forest? The sad and the guilty.

And he bet that if there were an outsider that caused trouble to their friends, they would fly through this woods. 

But if the little scums he called friends did something foolish or idiotic, Jon would rip their heads from their necks for making the two of them worry. He would dance around their corpses and he would make a leather couch with their skin.  _I’d say that to them later. They’d be fucking livid._

And they’d kick Jon’s ass. And they’d tackle each other and ruin Brock’s house, and they would have gashes and scratches from where they hit corners of furniture. They’d possibly break a window. They’d be hurt, but they’d be okay. 

Jon would keep them a little pissed, but he would keep them safe, too.  _They’re okay now. They’re not hurt._ He convinced himself.

His heart never ceased to throb, until he emerged from the woods and saw David leading Tyler to the pool, the latter in a blank state, clutching at the former’s hand so tight that it looked like it hurt.

“What happened?” Jon jogged closer. David’s eyes flashed, and he knew better than to seek answers from them, so he raised his hands as a surrender. He went in the house only to see Lucas and Kryoz heading out and Brock and Marcel sitting on both sides of Brian, who held his head between his hands.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jon put his hands on his hips.

All their eyes shifted to Jon, but Brian put his head back in his palms as if it were too heavy to lift. Tyler and Brian never broke like this; whenever something happened, it was the two of them who would stand up and slap some senses onto their friends’ faces. The plan would crumble, the team would fall, but not these two.

Never these two.

"I broke Tyler.” Brian stared at his left hand while the other cupped half of his face. “I didn’t know… .I sent him a dead image of David. I just want…I just thought he could handle that…I’m sorry. I won’t use my power that way again.”

Jon found himself softening for two things. First, he completely understood Tyler’s feeling. If it were Evan’s corpse that would be sprawled right before his very eyes…there would be something in him that would break and would never be fixed. Second, Jon was relieved that no one assaulted them. He geared himself up for the worse, that Bryce and others were here and attacking his friends.

“Where is Evan?”

Jon slowly turned his head towards Brock. There was one moment when Jon’s face was blank—as if he was certain Brock was joking and trying to make things light. But the moment he saw Brock’s serious and curious face, Jon came into a realization so dreadful that he became dizzy.

Brock was up and ready to support Jon, but Jon didn’t have a fucking time to faint. My God, what had happened to Evan?

With every step he made, Jon was drowning. In air. In water. In thoughts of Evan. In intoxicating anger that was clawing in between his lungs. He couldn’t breathe—something in his him was dislodged and the world would never rotate without it. His pulse was a hammer to his rib cage as he slammed the door open that led to the pool, David gave him a dirty look—but it fell off of his face when he saw Jon.

“Did Evan go out from the woods before me?”

“No.”

“Fuck!” Jon sprinted towards the woods, his fists curled as compact as a rock—it wouldn’t be impossible to assault the nearest tree with how much angry he was to himself.

But Jon hadn’t crossed the backyard yet when his heart erupted with different kinds of palpitations, one kind different to the next one. His vision was a border of pulsing red, and he opened his mouth wide to suck air.

But he couldn’t.

His forehead met the ground, his mouth whimpering with the abnormalities that came at his body. And then…

There was a shrilling scream in his ear so loud that Jon thought that it was him who screamed. But the echoes of the inhumane sound keep on returning to him, reverberating back to him, and each time it brought more clarity of whom it was from.

“No–Fuck!” Jon shoved everyone that loomed over him and tried to get up. The pain—there was no pain. It was non-existent to his senses anymore, because there was nothing stronger than the rush of panic and adrenaline inside his head. His vision didn’t clear out, but he only zeroed in on one person: Marcel.

He grabbed the man’s arm and bared his teeth on him. “Take me to Evan’s house now!”

And Jon saw Marcel’s hesitance—the furrows on his brows deepened as his eyes narrowed at Jon. A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Jon lashed out as he turned. “Get off me!” He snarled.

It was Brian.

“Calm down, Jon. Jeez. What’s happening?”

“No,” Jon shook his head violently—he was running out of time. Evan—the only person who tried to hold Jon when he wasn’t tangible, the only person who wanted to save Jon when he himself needed saving,  _his_ Evan—was in a lot of pain and needed him. “No, get the fuck out of my way. Marcel!” he reached out to his friend. “Come on.”

A bubble of transparent force field hummed around them, warm and comforting, but nothing about it was strong to soothe his nerves. When Jon gazed at Brock, his bandaged hands were raised to the sky. “You’re not going anywhere without explaining, Jon. You can’t always do this.”

“WHAT?” Jon turned to Brock. A twisted knot of of flame burned inside his ribs—boiling and hissing at his chest—and it surged to the idea of his fist hitting Brock’s jaw, bone crushing bone. “What exactly is it I’m doing, Brock?” He said low and dangerous, his feet stepping closer. “Tell me, oh wise one.”

“You always leave us in the dark, Jon! That’s what you’re doing.” Brock said.

“Jesus,” Brian shove him away from Brock. “Can you just explain, please, what is happening? We can help, you know? You don’t have to bark at us—if you just explained everything earlier then all of these are over and we’re out there looking for—”

“Come on!” A hand grabbed Jon’s wrist. It was Tyler with a palm flashed in front of him, an arm wiping across his face to wipe the damp streaks. “Evan is lost, right? We’ll find him. Don’t worry.” He pulled Jon into a run so fast it felt like he was flying. Until he was flying. A powerful gust lifted Jon from the ground, throwing off his balance, and when he expected to stumble and fall, another blast of wind hit him from the other direction and his posture was righted.

He felt like a ghost again, and in normal times, it would scare him. Not now, though.

While the wind yelled at Jon’s ears, Tyler screamed for their friends. “Brian, you’re coming with us for concealment. We’ll go back to the house. The rest, check the forest. If he wasn’t there, then check Bryce’s cribs. They’re the only ones who can kidnap Evan if he was kidnapped at all.”

“Jon!” Marcel screamed as he ran away beside Brock and David. “I’ll take you to him when I found him. Pull yourself together!”

Just like that, his anger and frustration dissipated. These people were important to him, and in a heartbeat, he would dive onto a wildfire to save all of them. But, God, did his impatience snap when he was forced to stop when all he wanted to do was keep moving. He nearly punched Brock, and his friends saw that aura. Yet they helped Jon in the end—and it dawned on Jon that these very people treat him as a family and accepted him no matter how evil-mannered he was.

They made him realize that he didn’t only have Evan—he also have brothers and best friends.

In one huge wave, Jon felt bad, but he silently thanked everyone in his mind, most especially, Tyler. He might need to ask for forgiveness from all of them, and it would surely one hell of a time—but he would do it when Evan was back.

Evan made everything bearable.

The three of them sailed through the air. Occasional gusts going the opposite way hit them, and the force seeped into Jon’s flesh and bones that could later rise onto the surface of his skin as bruises. And as they tore through the streets, the trees and plants around violently rustled, as if they cheered at the three determined boys.

While they were on their way, Jon sent Evan comforting images. Water. Pearls. Falls. Teddy bears. Snowmen carrying guns. A chocolate cake. A pretty hazel-eyed face that tilted to the sky, straight teeth peeking from the lips that tried to hinder a smile. Tan skin that glittered gold as the day painted it with the rich color of sunlight.

Then he sent Evan a picture of himself, Tyler, and Brian tearing space as they searched for him.

_I’m coming, Evan. Hold on. Hold on tight._

The wind stopped soaring as Tyler cut out the supply off air underneath them, and Jon fell on two feet and one palm. Nothing else registered to his mind—all he knew was that he saw the front of Evan’s house and Jon bolted to the front door. It was locked, of course. That was why he found himself tracing his steps back to the lawn, the further he put distance between him and the house, the better.

Then he faced it again. Tyler and Brian lowered their eyebrows, confused at what Jon was up to—until Jon charged into their direction. He was like a dart that zipped between them, bringing air with him.

Then Jon leaped, knees up almost to his chest, arms crossed in front of his face. The shattering came first before the pain—glass stuck onto his elbows and forearms, some was onto his knees. When he landed on the guest room floor, his shoes crushed the shards against the carpet. The glasses served as traction as he sprinted out and checked every spaces in the house, not bothering to open the front door for Brian and Tyler.

The world blurred as he screamed Evan’s name, but not even a whisper of an answer echoed back. That punched him with a realization—he might not see Evan ever again.

Jon’s chest became hot and it hurt to breathe, his limbs trembled that made him fail to ran. He reached rooms by transferring from jamb to jamb, his fingers almost denting walls by how tight he grip them for support. The last room—the bedroom—was empty.

He put both his hands behind his head and paced around—he was already in the brink of insanity with this amount of worry and panic. Fuck this room. He hated in here without Evan. He hated how the place looked the same, from the soft light that spilled in to the sounds that it accommodated in echoes. Jon wanted to tear the blue walls down because they were so fucking bright when his whole world was bathing in jet black ink. Without Evan, his life was just…not life.

Then there, at the ceiling, a floating black smudge swirled, and it stretched into a glitchy navy blue hole that elongated until a hand appeared and snatched Jon’s shirt.

He was ready to bite the hand, but a voice boomed first.

“Come on! I know where he is!” It was Marcel, and a time bomb in Jon’s chest started ticking.

Jon did not struggle anymore as he was relieved to hear his friend’s voice and the words he delivered. Instead, as the ground left his soles, Jon grabbed and clutched Marcel’s arm like it was an anchor rising and he was being lifted from underwater. Inside Marcel’s teleporting space, Jon were sandwiched between walls of horizontal stripes of colorful lights, as if he was there was a different world in here and the city was flying past his eyes. It smelled coffee in here.

When Marcel and Jon felt a solid floor against their toes, the kaleidoscopic lights were instantly gone too, like someone pulled the plug of the Christmas lights from the socket. Darkness drenched the place—the shadows were strong here. There was a foul smell around that caused him to suddenly miss Marcel’s transportation portal. What little light that made it in this area wasn’t enough for Jon to see what caused the revolting smell. But they could see a wooden door in front of them, a rectangular entrance so old that the floral engraving was nothing but dull bumps and studs.

Marcel was staring at the little lights and shadows that shifted from under the door. Whatever happening inside, it was making Jon anxious and scared.  _Is Evan in there?_   _Is he alive? I swear to God if he was… ._  They had no time to spare—immediately, he turned to Marcel.

“Look at me,” Jon grabbed his friend’s shoulders and and shook him gently, “Get everyone here, especially David. I’ll be fine.”

“Hell no,” Marcel whispered back, his eyes wide and terrified. “There’d be three people in there. Bryce, Luke, and Anthony. Ryan could possibly be there too! Are you nuts?!” His eyes darted between Jon and the door, eventually, his gaze fixing on the shadows on the floor. “I’m staying.”

“Marcel,” Jon insisted. “There would be nothing fair even if it’s the two of us. Get everyone. Make sure this fight will be unfair for the scumbags.”

For the second time of the day, Jon saw Marcel hesitate, but Jon gave him a firm squeeze on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I did revive myself just a month ago, didn’t I?”

Marcel nodded, his forehead glistening with sweat. “But for fuck’s sake, don’t die again.”

With a smirk, Jon stood straight, “I’ll try not to.”

When Marcel left and Jon was sure his friend would not come back in a while, Jon moved slowly towards the door, his warm palm pressing against its cold surface. At first, Jon was opening it gently, the light sliding slanted on his face, afraid of being not discreet. But then he remembered Evan’s face, his always genuine smile, his head nuzzling on Jon’s collarbone as he slept, and then Jon forced himself to face the situation—he pushed the door fully.

It swung, the knob on the other side hitting the concrete wall with a metallic thud.

There were three people inside the dim room.

Anthony was doubling over a corner, liquid contents pouring out of his mouth—that smell was the first one to hit Jon, fouler than the one outside. Luke was on the other corner, in the middle of settling a knife down on a metal table. Many splotches of red covered his face, but they couldn’t mask the terror and surprise that mixed when he saw Jonathan. The copper smell of blood was the second to hit Jon.

Then…there was Evan, in the metal chair, pale as bone.

Writhing uncontrollably.

A cloth tied around his head and pinned between his gritted teeth. Tears were waterfalls from his wide, terrified eyes. He was thrashing so hard the cloth came undone.

A piercing scream rang in the room—a sound so agonized that Jon’s heart had to stop beating for one second as if to listen fully, intensely, carefully if that sound really did come from Evan. The scream was so primal, so inhuman that Jon refused to believe it was released from his sweet, sweet Evan. 

This wasn’t him.

But it was—there was no mistaking the eyes of honey and autumn Jon knew too well. Evan was sobbing and screaming as he struggled to fold his knees close to his body and caress his free left hand onto his chest. His left hand—it had no ring finger and little finger.

Jon slowly diverted his eyes at the ceiling. 

The light started flickering faster.

Shadows played a tug of war on the floor, on the walls, on their very faces.

The bulb at the ceiling shattered.

There was a surge. In Jon’s veins. Familiarly bizarre. It hummed; it sounded a lot like radio silence but it buried any other noises in the room. It grew louder and louder until he recognized the ticks of a bomb, counting the moments Jonathan was calm—because it knew his composure wouldn’t last. He tried to ease the rage inside his burning chest, he truly did. He inhaled the foul air, felt his lungs expanding more and accommodating more, to the point that they were almost bursting.

They were so vast inside his chest, yet he still lacked air.

Yet the fire still licked his bones and muscles.

And Jon knew, right there and there, that his ability would show up to his face again.

His heartbeats started slowing than what was healthy for a normal body—they pulsed like the ending of a song, like they too were trying to hide from Jonathan. They faded into his ears in exchange of the blue smoke that curled against his skin—it was warm. It felt like wearing a newly ironed shirt. By the time the smoke that wafted from his pores illuminated the room, he wasn’t feeling anything anymore.

Jon rolled his neck. His eyes panned over the direction of his first victim.

One. Two. Three strides. His palm was full as he squeezed a jaw, his fingers and nails digging into flesh of cheeks. The bearded victim’s eyes had whites that ate the shaking brown pupils, his complexion as pale as his teeth. Hands tried to peel away Jon’s fingers as he tried to crush bones. Blood were drawn from where the tip of his nails were buried, traversing around the downward slope of his wrist first, then to his elbow, before falling onto the floor.

Drip, drip, drip.

Things levitated in the air—a chair, a bloody wooden board, a door—and slammed at Jon’s head, but everything only turned into splinters the moment it touched him. A huge window shard was pierced onto his back and stuck out from his stomach, creating a sickening grating sound as it cut through his bones. A knife dug onto his left chest that felt like a punch at first.

Blood spilled from Jon’s wounds fast.

There was a relief on Luke’s face.

But there was a smile on Jon’s lips—a malicious mirth, a twisted glory.

Jon was now standing with two lives, two hearts. Luke’s was now flowing in him, so even if they ripped the heart out of his chest, he would live.

This was Jonathan’s power: the ability to transfer life.

And the victim was starting to know that.

“A-Anthony!” Luke yelled. Jon laughed. Veins starting to carve on Luke’s flesh, his face slowly becoming cadaverous, his skin turning into a loose wrinkly drape that hung on his muscles. And his bones were now too fragile that Jon crushed his jaw within his fingers.

Luke would have bellowed—would have given one last fight—if he weren’t already dead.

The feeling was divine, of having two hearts. Waves of the warmth of life would shoot into his bloodstreams, leaving him win silent euphoria. Whenever he was ridden of more than one life, he would feel so powerful, like he could conquer the world if he wanted to.

Oh, he would. He would if it meant having no one to bother him, Evan, and his friends.

Jon turned to Anthony, who had an elbow covered to his nasty mouth, but his face was gaunt in horror. His pupils started shaking when Jon worked a slow smile on his face as he slowly drew the huge shard out of his torso. The sound of slick blood and flesh and the scrape of bone against the glass must have made Anthony sick again because another batch of liquid splashed followed by heaving and gagging.

Jon then dislodged the knife from his heart, a red stain growing and merging with the ones on his stomach.

There was no pain, really—not yet.

With the freeing of his own heart, Luke’s started pumping blood and healing Jon’s damaged one—though Jon didn’t know where the other heart was located in him now. The moment the two hearts inside his body functioned well, they helped each other close any open wounds.

He heard Anthony clambering out, and Jon let him—he wouldn’t waste time for a coward enemy.

When the room was rid of anyone else, Jon opened his eyes and released the tension on his shoulders, the clenching of his fists, and the locking of his jaw.

The eyes that could cut through glass became hooded with worry as he rushed and crouched by Evan’s side. Jon raised a hand to at least clear Evan’s skin from blood or brush his hair back but decided against it. He didn’t know where else Evan was hurt, and Jon was afraid he would bring more pain to him.

The injured man was conscious, but his eyes were closed, silent tears still streaming over his cheekbones. His face was sculpted with pain, his good hand cupping his injured one just right below his chin. It must have hurt so much—he must have been so scared being alone.

Jon couldn’t trust himself to speak, because his voice would broke—he was sure of it—just like how his two hearts were currently breaking. 

When Evan was finally in love with the taste of life, people started trying to take it away from him. And Jon didn’t know how this event would affect Evan, and Jon, at that moment, couldn’t care less. He just let the thought sink into him—that Evan was actually  _alive_. Warm. Injured and in pain but warm and alive. With heartbeats. He might be too broken after today, but Jon would fix him. 

He had to try.

Jon couldn’t help himself–he pressed his lips on Evan’s forehead, gentle and lovingly.

“It’s you.” Evan gasped, recognizing Jon with just a peck, “You’re here.”

“I am.” Jon breathed deeply to avoid having his words tremble, “You’re safe. No one will harm you again. I swear it.”

And Jon should be shaking by now, his control on his body should be wobbly, because two heartbeats in one body should make Jon too overwhelmed that he wouldn’t be able to use any of his senses properly. But that wasn’t the case yet—the hilt of the knife beneath his grip was steady as he cut the ropes that bound Evan; his hands were solid as he secured cloths around Evan’s injured hand; his arms grew firm as he gathered Evan into his arms.

But not long after that, just right when he was about to stand up and carry Evan out of here, Jon’s whole body quivered. It was already erupting—Jon was pulsing so hard it seemed like he was having spasms as his two hearts beat together. He could feel his veins about to pop because of how much blood was rushing in each one—they rushed in his head and he heard rivers in his ears. He dropped Evan to the ground before he could do anything else.

He wasn’t supposed to carry two lives this long.

Something inside him snapped, and he let out a piercing cry, his spine arching back. Jon closed his eyes and clamped his teeth shut in attempt to not draw attention to them. Bryce was still out there and Jon wouldn’t be able to protect the Evan if he was like this.

Luke’s life, it was tearing him apart. He had to get it out. Right fucking now.

“Hold me. Let’s go!” That was Marcel in his ears, and Jon, despite having his eyes closed, scrambled across the floor to have a grip of both Evan and Marcel. Then the ground beneath him vanished.

**Evan’s POV:**

Evan had never been this hurt before—he had never been so severely injured that he lost other senses to the pain. He couldn’t hear anything, he lost the ability to speak coherent words, and he couldn’t feel himself breathing—all he could focus on where the two fingers that rolled across the floor towards his feet and how they weren’t attached to him anymore but he could still feel the pain.

And the pain was outrageous and harrowing. When he thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, then his wounds would sting so bad his eyes would roll back into his head. And he felt that for a long time, yet he didn’t get used to it.

Yet he didn’t die.

There was a commotion around him, and he opened his eyes to prepare himself for more assaulter. But all he saw in the corner of his vision was a person singeing in blue flame, a huge glass shard stuck to his stomach.

Then the next thing he knew, lips pressed against his forehead. And Evan knew he was in safety. It was him—Jon rescued him. Jon would always settle a hand on the side of Evan’s head, his ear tucked between his thumb and forefinger, before he gave Evan a kiss on his forehead.

“It’s you,” Evan cried, couldn’t help himself but to lean more into Jon. “You’re here.”

And even though he wouldn’t be able to play his guitar any longer, and he might feel phantom pain, and he was going to live a life scared of kitchen knives, he felt a little better by the feeling of Jon near him.

Jon said something in his ear, but Evan was still delirious in pain that he couldn’t make out the words he was saying. Evan’s limbs hung useless when they were freed from his binds, so he just let Jon take care of everything. All Evan wanted was to feel his bed again and be wrapped in strong arms that would make sure he would sleep sound tonight.

But it seemed like he didn’t merit to be in relief yet, because where Evan shed tears, Jon poured blood. He remembered asking questions and he remembered receiving an answer, but Marcel was suddenly there and Evan just knew they had to get away from that room.

Another place that would haunt him.

Even experiencing severe pain, Evan didn’t let go of Jon. And Jon didn’t let go of Evan. While pressing his throbbing hand close to his chest, Evan’s other one was hooked around Jon’s back as they teleported. There was a faint smell of coffee, but the sharp tang of blood was too strong.

Marcel brought them to the church beside the graveyard Jon’s tombstone was planted. It was a classic one with its high ceiling, multicolored shards of windows that formed images of angels, the marbled floor running smooth despite the cracked design. The seats were wooden and varnished, the kneelers were as crimson as the stain of blood on Evan’s cuff. The altar shone gold, from the chalice and bells up to the crucifix.

The light caused his eyes stung, but only for a moment. After that, he started feeling a tad bit better as he could see no discrete corners where Bryce nor Anthony could hide from.

The three of them landed at the front of the first row of the seats and just right beside the altar, Marcel and Evan carefully helping Jon settle on the floor.

But Jon shoved the two of them that Evan’s hips hit the spinnet sitting at their side. “Go far away from me. Now!” His voice sported distress and alarm, his hand clutching the side of his chest where his heart was. Sweat, blood, and tears molded into streams that rolled across his pain-stricken face.

But Evan, when it came to Jon, was stubborn, so he dropped on his knees beside the man and reached to wipe the stain of agony from his beautiful face. But Evan was yanked away, hands seized his wrists, his feet dragging across the floor..

“Listen to him!“ David yelled as Evan was being hauled away from Jon.

“Stop,” Evan protested and tried to wrench his wrist free, but he was still too weak from everything that happened this day. “He needs me. We can’t just watch and let him suffer. He’s clearly in pain!”

David did stop but only to hold Evan’s face and encase it with a green glow. The pain of his hand dulled, and even his raw throat softened. His chest sighed as if he was contracting his rib cage all along and now they were free. In a few moments, Evan wasn’t feeling anything that reminded him he was just tormented minutes ago—he was back to the version of himself before today: happy, loved, alive. Everything was so pleasant, yet so wrong.

This was a manipulation, and Evan would be lying if he said he didn’t need this. He did, but he didn’t want it if Jonathan were in the opposite state. With a firm decision, Evan braced himself for the pain to come back all at once, to break him bone by bone if it meant he could be with Jon’s side.

“I’m sorry, David.” Then Evan hardened his pulse and swatted David’s hands away from his face. Instantly, everything rushed back to him in one huge blow, like a paddle to the chest—he was already out of breath and a scream was already out of his mouth.

But he kept running.

His footsteps heavy and scuffing as he limped towards Jonathan. If the world were to end today, then Evan would choose to die looking at blue irises—it would be like gazing at the calmest waters; it would be the best way to go.

Others shouted at him, too, but he didn’t listen. Evan couldn’t just stay still, just watching Jon fall on the floor over and over again. He couldn’t take seeing Jon get ridden by seizures—no—he had to at least hold him through it. 

When Jon slumped on the floor, his half-lidded eyes that leaked blood staring at him, Evan cursed and jolted into a sprint.

But the air in his lungs was pulled out and he turned at Tyler who had two of his hands flashed at Evan. And Evan glared at his friend, brows lowering, eyes bearing hot coals. But he didn’t need air to make little moves, he fell on fours, yes, but he could clamber his way towards Jon. Little by little, he would make it—there was no fight Evan wouldn’t give, there was no last breath he wasn’t going to spend try to go to Jon.

He loved Jon. 

Then Evan’s head hit something invisible yet solid—Brock’s shield—and Evan couldn’t crawl any further. He was locked in this dome…

Which caused Tyler’s power to lose its touch on Evan. 

Air filled his lungs once more as he inhaled, his muscles tensing once again for the denseness that would come to them. And then he exhaled air. 

Evan took a deep breath.

And that was everything he needed. 

He set his density at the roof of his limitations and slammed his uninjured fist on the shield over and over again. A smirk spread across Evan’s face when on the seventh hit, a crack on the solid bubble appeared and it spread all over the dome. Evan crashed through it with his weight, ignoring the fact that he just developed a new level of his strength. 

Jon was at arms reach, a heartbeat away, and Evan could already feel his warmth, his favorite feeling in the world.

And then Marcel was suddenly hovering in from him, a hand stretched rustling Evan’s hair. Evan’s eyes widened, his mouth opening to protest, but in a blink, he was back to where David and others were standing, Jon too far away once more.

His eyes welled up as he struggled to peel hands around him one by one.

"Let go of me!”

“Evan!” Brock said in a scolding tone. “He specifically said to stay far away from him.”

Then Jon was screaming again as he crawled on the floor, his palms illuminating a light with a tint of brown. The panic was evident in his eyes as he saw his palms and tried to get up with the help of the spinnet. His hands slammed on the wooden keys, creating an unharmonized sounds in an attempt to be on his own feet. 

Then something solid moved from underneath the marble floor, and it caused the ground to tremble, dusts and gravel falling from the high ceiling. They all lost their balance and went down on their knees, Evan wincing as he was forced to use both of his hands to stable himself.

The sound was getting louder and louder, and the rattling of the floor was getting a little more intense. It felt like there was a train underneath and it was nearing to crash on them. 

But the moment he lifted his eyes to stare at the man on the other side of the church, a huge force blasted from the ground where Jon was. The floor erupted with dusts, dirt, and marble chunks. Concrete walls were smashed into smaller pieces, colorful windows exploded and scattered in the air like glitters.

Evan’s arm flew to his face as the wind ran like a wave towards them, bringing little glasses and sharp stones with it. Lines of blood drawn on his cheeks and arms and he hissed at the sting. Thick dusts formed a cloud where the Jon and the spinnet was and Evan’s mind raced for not seeing if he was okay.

“Jon!” He yelled when the ground settled, his voice ringing as echoes inside the church.

There was no answer but the rolling of rubble on the floor.

But when the dusts cleared a little bit, Evan’s mouth fell.

Jon was staggering out of the smoke of dusts. But what got Evan flabbergasted was, his friends. Without him noticing, they left his side and were already scattered around Jon. Tyler sent a gust to blow the broken glasses away from the weak man, and the debris of the broken ceiling the wind couldn’t carry were taken care of Marcel who teleported the objects from the air and onto the ground. Brock was busy popping up bubbles of shield here and there where his friends were, his bandaged hands starting to be painted red.

David was at the back of Evan, healing him without him knowing so. Brian stood near. And Evan remained motionless as he remained awestruck. The three of them, who couldn’t help with the defense of their friend, stood there and waited what was hidden beyond the ceiling-to-floor dusts.

Then Tyler flicked his wrist and the wall of swirling dusts swayed to the left like a curtain of a stage.

A huge tree was there, rooted from where the spinnet was—its gigantic branches going through windows and walls, its lush leaves rippling as Tyler’s wind disturbed them. The little shards of broken windows were still all over the place, gifting the place with tiny winking lights that seemed to mimic the stars’s glow during the night. Black and white keys dangled from the branches, and the pedals of the spinnet were located at the base of the trunk.

And then there was Jon, hands on knees, panting. 

_He’s okay. He’s alive._ Evan bit his lip and contained his tears, but he couldn’t control the sadness on his face. Why did the two of them had to be in pain? Was there something wrong with being finally happy? That people looked for ways to hurt them? It was obvious that Jon was still weak, by the way his chased his breath, but a lot stronger than Evan expected after growing a tree out of a musical instrument. 

The ability of Jon intrigued Evan even more—he saw his hands glowing earlier and he materialized a tree out of the old wood of the spinnet, but his ability didn’t concern nature. What was it?  

And then his friends was running towards Jon and gave the man the support he needed—but the way the others clung to Jon, it seemed like they were the ones who needed support. At how hey needed evidence that their friend was truly alive and did what he just did. It was so heartwarming to witness that he couldn’t help but join in when he arrived at where they were rustling hairs, slamming backs, bumping fists.

That moment, Evan’s heart was full. This was how he always thought the group would be, not playful jabs nor crisp expletives, but arms that reached to the weakest friend. He couldn’t help but to have fallen into an embrace with them, the only people he had.

And then the ground grumbled once more, as if the chaos today weren’t enough and it was still hungry for violence and blood. The leaves rustled above them, some black and white keys tumbling over their heads. Everyone shifted their gaze to Jonathan but the man only shook his head–this wasn’t his doing. This was somebody else’s.

“Jonathan, I need you to listen.” A voice aired, amplified by a megaphone They all locked their gaze at the tall oak door where the sound came from.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

“Uncle Jon,” A croak. A sob followed. “My arm hurt.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support for this fic! It's really very overwhelming!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This contains H2OVanoss, Daithi De Wildcat, Krii7y, Terrormoo, and heartbreaks XD <3 Epilogue will come next week but it only has like at least 3k words, unlike this massive one. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!

**_Jon’s POV_ **

_When Jon finally mustered the courage to have a first look of the baby, there had been a pang on his chest. A sour taste gave a foul flavor in his mouth that he was close to throwing up._

_Because he was now being replaced by his family—his mother, his brothers, and his dear sister were smiling down at the tiny thing the way they would at Jonathan when he was still living at home. He called for them—screamed their names over and over again. When it didn’t work, he opted for the degrading insults he used to call them, like ‘poopy hair’ for his sister and ‘butt face’ for his brothers.  
  
But not one gaze staggered away from the kid and spent a lovingly look at Jonathan. When he tried to yank the hems of their shirts, his hands just went through them, leaving Jon even more aghast. He tried to hug his mother’s leg, and with his current state, he failed._

_He wanted to cry for being helpless, crouching by her calves, apologizing for living in a tree when he had a home. His mama didn’t look down on him._

_And Jon’s eyes were sharp, darting to the source of his misery._

_The little thing was wrapped in layered cloths, his head topped off with a white beanie that was too big for him. It was probably Jon’s when he was younger. The baby’s mouth opened a little, his lips twisting into a weird yawn that, for some reason, made the people around him giggle. What a stupid little person._

_The baby was in a wooden crib the color of bone, surrounded by people who once loved Jon, who once made him feel unafraid about being anything he fancied to be._

_A couple of moments later, Jon was tired enough that he let his quirky gravity pull him to its level. Now his back was pasted on the ceiling, his head beside the yellow buzzing light bulb. Having a top view, Jon could see everyone, the happy tears, the tiny smiles, the gentle touches. His vantage point didn’t hide anything, and it hurt all the more._

_He straightened his arms in front of him, pointing down towards the bundled thing. The baby was so small down there that Jon would probably be able to carry him with one hand effortlessly, and he was probably so light too that Jon would be able to raise him up over his head with one arm._

_Jon hated him, hated how the_   _baby would get to touch his mama’s face someday, how he would experience playing tag with Jon’s brothers, how he would get to grow up and give Jon’s mother and sister a good life. He could do everything Jon couldn’t anymore._

_That was unfair._

_Finally, tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, blurring not only his vision but also his line of thoughts. At first, he could still wipe the tears, rather ferociously too, but they turned into little fast waterfalls that his hands couldn’t keep up. So he just gave up and let them fall, his arms dangling once more towards the baby._

_A sob escaped from him._

_The baby turned to his direction and looked directly at him._

_It—Connor raised his hands forward, and in a different angle, it appeared like Jon and the baby were trying to reach each other._

_It was the first occurrence after his death that Jon’s existence was acknowledged–it shouldn’t be surreal, but it was._

_So the next time he was back from his resting place, he made sure he would visit Connor. A year after that first occurence, Jon found himself leaning on a wall of the arcade place where his friends found Brian crying soundlessly. That was when Jon learned other forms of heartbreaks aside from not being fully alive._

_Once Jon was certain that his friends were going to be fine and not do anything stupid, he soared like a rocket straight to his old home._

_Connor was teething then._

_As Jon glided through the door, Connor snapped his little head towards his direction and crawled as he giggled. When he reached the ghost feet of his uncle, his teeth gnashed together in an attempt to bite Jon. And there was a different kind of glee that warmed Jon’s chest when Connor realized that he hadn’t bitten anything, so he just sat there, blinking four times at Jon._

_Jon snorted in laughter at the foolishness of the thing._

_On the other hand, his sister frowned to the weird things her kid was doing, but she shrugged the matter off in the end._

_Jon grew to hold the kid dear by then._

_The next time he was out of slumber, it had been 8 years since he died and his friends were deciding to live under one roof. Connor was six by then. Five years of being dormant—Jon splayed his fingers in front of him and counted how old he was supposed to be._

_His shoulders slackened when he couldn’t remember. Eighteen? Nineteen? Older? Younger?_

_There was a heavy weight in his chest when he flew to visit his home—it was such a long time ago that Jon didn’t expect that the kid would recognize him anymore. Because even in a ghostly state, Jon kept on growing. He couldn’t exactly see his reflection but he could hear his voice when he talked: deep and thick. There was a lump on his throat, too—a physical one—that bobbled up and down._

_Those changes didn’t bother him, though. It was missing Connor’s first day at school that did. Missing talking about his first class, his first friend, his new toys and stuff —Jon awaited for that to happened._

_Too bad the world hated him._

_When Jon slid down from the roof of their neighbor, dropping right in front of his sister and Connor, he expected to be seen but not recognized. To see questions and confusion in the form of crumpled eyebrows and hesitant looks on the kid’s face aimed his mother who couldn’t even see Jon._

_Jon was wrong._

_The kid’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and Jon was so fucking happy he was sure he was as bright as the yellow Bumblebee car toy Connor was fiddling. And the latter was struggling to maintain a poker face despite his joy because he knew Jon was supposed to be a secret._

_That was the first time Jon wanted so bad to be alive. To gallop into the air while Connor rode on his shoulders._

_It was another year when Jon rose from death again—it was night and he appeared next to a bright street light. He didn’t know how it flickered with his ghostly presence, how it seemed to blink in surprise when Jon appeared. But it did, and it led his gaze to the street it was shining on._

_It was Evan staring wide-eyed at his direction and eventually diving out of the middle of the street and into the pavement._

_And like a moth to the flame, Jon ran and tried to attend to Evan. But he couldn’t do anything as five burly men flung and hurled fists and boots to Evan’s face and body. And Jon couldn’t just stare as it happened, so he tried to shove people away from Evan and punch flaring noses and snarling mouths. Unfortunately, his hands met nothing but air he couldn’t even tell if warm or cold._

_It felt so gross and dirty to be so unhelpful like that—to be in a crucial scene and but be nothing more than a witness._

_Especially when Evan was left dying on the street._

_Jon collapsed beside Evan and desperately attempted to grip Evan’s hands and hoped that this time he would have firm caresses. None of them succeeded. So Jon planted himself by his friend’s side and excruciatingly waited for help he couldn’t call himself._

_It felt like sipping sulfur, waiting like that for someone to come to them._

_Help did come—he saw how the ambulance’s tires rolled on Evan’s pooling blood and how its red and blue light played tag as they ran across the tallest of skyscrapers._

_Of course, Jon tailed the ambulance, occasionally cursing at the heavy traffic they met on the way, and he stayed at the hospital until an old lady came barging through the door screaming._

_“WHERE ARE THE NURSES? WHY IS HE IN A SHARED WARD? GET HIM A SOLO ROOM!”_

_Nurses entered the room with shaking knees. “M-Ma’am, we apologize but we don’t have an available solo ward as of the mo-moment.”_

_“WHY IS THERE NO VASE HERE?! Do you expect my grandson to heal with all these rustic smell? Get me some vases and petunias in five minutes!”_

_The poor nurses bolted._

_And right there, turning his back to the sassy grandmother, Jon was sure Evan was safe._

_He went to Connor next, even though it was almost midnight. With a gentle shake of the kid’s shoulder, Jon woke him up with guilt lodged between his ribs like a knife._

_“Sorry for waking you up.” He croaked as the foot of the bed dented when he sat on it. “I had a friend who was in an accident. Had to stay with him.”_

_The kid yawned with a sigh right after. Jon decided to just fix the blanket and let Connor fall back to sleep—he only wanted to say his goodbye anyway. “It’s okay, uncle Jon. Just please keep on coming back to us.”_

_And before he could react, the sweet child was humming in slumber._

_In a much unexpected turn of events, Jon woke up every day after that, not on random places but in his coffin he could easily go through out of._

_He always visited Connor first, because being able to actually interact with someone proved that he existed. Connor was the closest family he ever had._

“We will be at the mountains. Go alone,” boomed Bryce’s voice inside the church.

Jon couldn’t breathe as he paced back and forth, his fingers laced on his nape and sometimes running through his hair. He knew he was done for—they wouldn’t have any opportunity like this of saving Connor. The risk and sabotage are too high, and Jon knew it too, but he would sacrifice himself to get his little kid to safety, even if it meant not ever coming back to life again.

Jon didn’t want Connor to experience what he went through, or something worse than that.

One thing was for sure, if he were to turn himself over to the enemies, he would make sure he’d strap bombs all around

So marching towards the entrance of the church, charging like a whole army himself, Jonathan equipped himself—back was the blue smoke lingering close to his skin, back was the ruthless shadow on his face.

“Jonathan, wait!” A wall of hazy wind encased him, screeching a high-pitched whistle at his ears, and when he tried to go through, it stung him with its boiling temperature. Jon hissed at Tyler who was at the other side of the wall wind.

“Tyler… I swear to God if I got to Connor a little bit too late—”

But violent threats weren’t needed to his own surprise. Brian tapped Tyler’s shoulder and Tyler collapsed his wind. As the walls gave way, David, who Jon didn’t notice, took a stepped forward at him. “Don’t charge like that. We need a quick plan.” Jon rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms to his chest and gave David a chance. “Connor needs me, too. We don’t know if he’s hurt badly or not. We’re gonna head out and negotiate with them, while the rest of ye all think of a plan to come and save us. But ye all know the little guy is the priority here. So if it comes to worse, you know who to save.” Then David saluted everyone and grabbed Jon’s wrist, yanking him towards the door.

“Wait!” Two voices merged in one word.

“I’ll take you there.” Marcel said as he neared the two of them, holding out both of his hands. Jon grabbed one and David on the other.

“And I’ll take you back.” A hand pulled Jon’s nape down and lips curled against his—surprisingly intense. Evan’s mouth was devouring him, lips and teeth that left a tingling sensation in their wake inside his own mouth. But Jon couldn’t return the pleasure back, because this wasn’t his Evan.   
  
Tears dotted the corners of his closed eyes—his hold at Jonathan wasn’t caressing, it was desperate. Like he was drowning in water and Jon was air. But it was Jon’s fault that Evan was underwater in the first place, like a rusty anchor weighing him down to the ocean floor.

  
It felt like Evan was memorizing Jon’s physique, his warmth, his breathing pattern, the song of his pulse.   
  
And Jon understood—he could fathom why Evan was doing this. It could be the last time, yes.

When they separated, Jon met every eyes but Evan’s. He didn’t dare look at him—he was afraid to see a sad face he most probably sported—he just faced Marcel and they vanished in a portal right away. Which was Jon was glad for because when he got a last glance of the little shits he called friends, their jaws were hanging ajar. That was when it dawned on him that they just came out to their friends, and they did it in a way that he wouldn’t want anyone to see. He cursed under his breath, heat crowding on his cheeks, and he wished he didn’t just blush nor did the kiss make him a little bit calm. His nephew was still in danger because of him, and he was still angry at what Ryan and Bryce were doing—feeling at peace seemed so wrong.

So many opposite feelings that sat on his chest, just like the first day he was alive. So inconvenient.

The portal opened once again, and they hopped out just right beside the mouth of Mount Viers where the white smoke of lava was thicker and stronger than Jon’s blue aura. The trees receded from the peak of the mountain, slanting towards the other direction as if they were running away from this opening on the ground.  
  
“Hey.” At the other end of the crater, just across the spot where Jon, David, and Marcel were standing, Bryce was grinning, carrying Connor at his hip. The little kid brightened up at the sight of Jon, just like how he always did, and tried to wiggle free from Bryce’s hold.  
  
But he suddenly winced, petting his limp, bloody arm close to his stomach, tears dropping from his eyes.

Jon’s vision narrowed, his teeth baring. “He’s only a kid! Are you that fucking low?”

When the words registered to Bryce, Jon vividly saw how his soft deceiving face altered into something crooked and venomous—his lips curled away from his teeth, his brows hooding his sharp eyes, his skin adapting to the color of the lava in anger.  
  
“What kind of person do you think I am? Hurting a little kid?”

“I can’t believe this,” Marcel ran a hand over his face, “You fucking chopped off Evan’s fingers and you expect us to believe you didn’t do this?”

There was a shadow that took home on Bryce’s face, making his features hidden. And Jon knew right there and then that he fucked up by snapping at the blonde man like that. Bryce paced closer to the crater with Connor, an orange glow snaking from their chins, up to the bridge of their noses, leaving their eyes dark and shadowy.

Bryce was crazy.

Jon’s spine pulled taut, fear crushing his throat the reason he couldn’t scream despite his mouth hanging open. So he staggered forward in a weak attempt to stop the guy from whatever he was going to do to his nephew. But then David slammed a hand on his chest, side-eyeing Jon for a quick second before facing Bryce at the lip of the crater. “Listen, Bryce. Marcel’s only here to drop Jon off, and I tagged along to tend on Connor’s wounds. Use Jon all you want, but please let me have the kid. He did nothing, man.”

Most of the time, Jon wouldn’t listen to anyone and just relay the most spiteful contents his mind could think about. But not this time—he knew words wasn’t his strong suit and so to charge in a war of negotiation was a catastrophe. But that didn’t mean he was happy bottling up all this hatred—it was already swelling in his chest.

Still, he didn’t move. No one dared breathe, too—not Jon, not David, not Marcel, and not even Connor as they all watched hesitation and anger fight on Bryce’s face.

“Come here, David.” Bryce finally ordered, using his free hand to beckon David. “Heal his wounds and go. Leave Jonathan with me.”

David nodded rather eagerly and carefully circled around the mouth of the mountain. Rocks crunched as Jon’s friend painstakingly neared Connor where Bryce settled him down. Marcel and Jon were at the ready, in case Bryce tried to do something startling.  
  
There was slight shaking of the ground again and the lava rose higher, bringing heat and sweat to Jon’s face. Still he didn’t breathe, didn’t dare distract himself with one deep intake of breath, his eyes darting to everything that moved that wasn’t David and Connor.

Still far from the ideal distance, Connor jumped in David’s arms and David raced from the opposite direction. The healer did not stop to catch his breath nor dropped Connor until they were back to Jon’s side.  
  
There was something motivating at seeing someone be in utmost relief just knowing they were near Jon’s presence. A smile so twisted showed up in his face.  
  
But not for long.

“This is Evan’s fault.” Bryce casually told them.

“What?” Jon blinked.

“He was sending you signals for help when we had him. Tried if he could do it too. He was desperate. So he sent you images of where he was, some goodbye messages, too. I’ve seen all of them. Poor guy.”  
  
Jon clenched his teeth and that seemed to give joy to the scumbag because Bryce beamed at him.   
  
“But most was sent to Connor. Because they have this connection you won’t tell. So this little kid ran out of school to look for you, but he almost got hit by a speeding truck had I not been there.”

A bizarre blast of wind hit them, rustling their clothes and hair, blowing away the odor of the lava that smelled like sulfur and soldiering iron. When the words sunk in Jon’s comprehension, an annoying smile crept on Bryce’s face. And there was so many curses and sharp words Jon wanted to hurl at the man, because Jon didn’t like to owe anything from anyone, especially to an enemy. And Bryce knew that so he continued taunting, "You don’t like that, do you? You don’t like that I save people too. That I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. You hurt Evan either way. Why don’t you fucking bring Ryan over here so I can kill him?” Jon dared. His tongue was sharp now—the enemies didn’t hold anything dear to him anymore.  
  
“Oh, he’s here. He’s right here.”

All four of them, Jon, Connor, David, and Marcel, turned their heads to inspect the surroundings—from the sky so close they might touch heaven if they raised their hands and to the to the fields of houses at the foot of the Mount Viers—but there wasn’t even a shadow of Ryan. When Jonathan returned his gaze back to Bryce, he stopped breathing.

There was a man-shaped rock standing beside the blonde man, his hair made out of lava and the rest were patches of brown rocks that formed extremities and torso. The stones rearranged on his face, forming a small crack that seemed to be a grin—they clattered as they moved about themselves.

It grinned towards Jon.

“The last time we were face to face, we were still little kids.”

Jon was incredulous and nervous. “What kind of abomination are you?”

Ryan spread his arms to the side. “I am Earth. It is me. I can control it, but it can’t control me. This is my ability.”

How…could Jon possibly fight Ryan? It was one of the strongest abilities because it was elemental. Along with the control of wind, which was Tyler’s; the control of fire which was the power of Anthony, and the control of water that was acquired by no one, the control of earth would be nothing compared to Jon’s power. Ryan could use it no matter where he was in the city, unlike Jon who needed to get real close to make real damage.  
  
Ryan clapped, the stones crumbling on this palms. “Enough chit-chat. Let’s get this over with. We tie you up, and Connor can go with David and Marcel. You stay here. How about that?”

“Fucking deal.” Jon said, but he was chucking his arms around and flinging his neck from side to side as if he was warming up. Nothing in the deep anger and strong vengeance that boiled up from the roots of Jon’s veins suggested that there was an intense fight that was waiting to take place.

Although Jon knew he already lost before it began. He wasn’t brewed for fighting, his bones weren’t forged for more solid limbs unlike Evan’s, his thin skin weren’t used to the strong pull of the wind unlike Tyler’s. He had an ordinary body, with a special ability that ran from within, and he was against someone whose lungs were made out of stones, tendons that wouldn’t rip, a heart encased by the earth itself.

But Jon had to try, right?  
  
If anything, Jon was incredibly relieved at Ryan’s offer. Nothing else would be in danger but him, and he could always try to revive himself—he always had that chance unlike his friends. He just needed to be wary and plan his attacks, or maybe he could stall and give others more time to think.  
  
Jon grew more anxious, his hand slipping into his pocket to fondle the seed Evan gave him. It brought him comfort that he had something of Evan’s, but not enough to calm his pounding heart.  
  
David, Marcel, and Connor backed up, a portal already staining the air.

“Don’t leave yet!”  
  
Jon froze. Bryce squinted at him as he picked up a bloody rope from the ground, and Jon had a feeling it was the same one they used on Evan because of Jon was the one who cut these very ropes himself.

“Kneel before me, Jonathan. I’ll tie you up first before they leave. I don’t have to read your mind to know how cunning it is.” Jon ground his teeth as he bent a knee on the ground, Bryce wrapping fraying ropes around his torso, thighs, and shoulders. His hands were cuffed, too.

He cursed. Jon was planning on attacking Bryce the moment the three were gone to avoid any of them being hostages again. But damn, Bryce was smart and analytical even without his ability.

With a nod from Ryan, Marcel reopened his portal. David scooped Connor in his arms and he jumped in the portal, and that was when he noticed that Marcel had his eyes trained at Jon.

And Jon smiled, just like when they were in the basement to save Evan, and then he shook his head gently. They were little signs that Jon was denying any help from here on—and if they were translated in words, they would mean  _“I’ll take it from here. Don’t come back for me.”_

There was a war on Marcel’s face before his toes toyed the edge of his portal. “Goodbye, Jon,” his friend whispered, “I won’t come back.”

And then Marcel outstretched both of his hands in the air as he vanished in a hole as dark as the night sky—right after he fell, the portal dissolved too.

Bundle of ropes fell writhing on the floor just right beside Jon—it smelled of freshly brewed coffee, too—and when Jon looked up, expecting to see Bryce, he only saw a tail of the same portal swallowing up brown shoes.

Marcel took Bryce with him, too.

**Evan’s POV:**

  
The moment Brian passed him a pair of binoculars, Evan’s eyes never parted the lenses. But the smoke at the mountain top blocked his view, so Evan gave up and faced his remaining friends.

“So what’s the plan?” Tyler flicked the brim of his helmet—the bags under his eyes were bruising all the more David was gone. “We can’t march up there.”

That was the time Evan saw the serious looks on Brian and Tyler. One of them had arms folded over his chest, while the other had his hands settled on his waist, but both of them had straight postures and chins that tipped high. Then there were their faces–brows that hung low over their sharp eyes and jaws that clenched from every abnormal sound coming from the mountain top.

They also had their auras.

The two of them stood in front of each other, Tyler’s hair and clothes constantly tickled by the wind and Brian’s fog, as white as the steam of the pot, bordering his own outline. They were unconsciously emitting their powers, dangerously serious and intimidating.  
  


Evan now understood why their friends looked up to them as persons-in-charge. It wasn’t because they were scary or foul-mouths or smart and knew what to do in different occasions—it was because they had flame in their eyes that told they would tear everyone and everything that would go against their plans and ways.  
  


Because right now, there was something in Evan that felt the need to step back from them so he wouldn’t become a nuisance to their plan. But at the same time, his ember burst into a wildfire when he saw the two, raising his hope a notch or two.  
  


They could come up with a stupid plan, and these two’s determination could still bring them to their goal.  
  


“If I were Bryce, I would send David and Marcel out of there because he would be outnumbered.” Brian theorized.  
  


“But he had Connor as a hostage,” Tyler rebutted.

“What could he do to Connor? He could only read minds.”  
  


“Hold a knife at the kid?”  
  


“He wouldn’t hurt the kid while Marcel and David are still there. And those two won’t leave until Connor is safe. Bryce knew he was the only motherfucker left who Ryan could trust, so he’d take careful actions.”  
  


“All you’ve said are void if Ryan were there.” Evan joined in, eyes not leaving at the peak of the mountain.  
  


Brian sighed, “I know.”  
  


“He’s there.” A voice interrupted them. Their heads shifted at the same time to the direction of the speaker, their bodies instinctively assembling into a fighting stance—a foot moved back, palms hardened into fists, powers on stand-by just underneath their skin.  
  


The three softened when they saw David and Connor running to them.  
  


It was Tyler who had big strides and met them halfway, and he only stopped when Connor jumped into his arms. “Fuck. You scared us, little guy.”  
  


David covered the kid’s ears. “Language!”  
  


But Evan’s eyes weren’t trained at the three people who looked like a family on their own, but at Marcel who snatched Brian’s arm and pulled him close to his side.  
  


“I’m sorry, Brian.” Marcel said without looking directly at man.  
  


The moment Marcel waved his arm once, a huge portal gaped in front of them, and then he stomped his feet on the ground in a complicated pattern—a smaller portal emerged at the floor. Marcel nodded at his work, stared at it for a second longer in satisfaction, and turned three-hundred sixty degrees, right at Evan’s direction, as if he knew all along that the former was observing them.  
  


“Ryan’s ability is the control of the Earth.” He informed. “He doesn’t have a human body, and for some reason, he needs Jon to fix that. Help Jon. He was bound. And it’s scary how he’s acting. He didn’t want me to come back for him,” And then he faced Brian. “You’re the only one capable of defeating Bryce. Mind to mind. So you’re coming with me.”  
  


“Marcel!” Brian protested, “I’m a grown ass man! You don’t have to drag me like this. I’m going willingly–“  
  


Marcel shoved Brian right into the portal on the ground, then Marcel followed, the illusionist’s scream fading and ending with a curse. After the two vanished, the big portal that seemed like a slash in the air started closing in. It was closing so slow that Evan thought Marcel was starting to lose his grip on his ability now, but he was mistaken. Marcel might be goofy, but when he was serious, he was incredibly effective.  
  


Before the portal became too small for a person to fit in, Bryce was spitted out and was thrown straight into the portal on the ground.  
  


Marcel was bringing the fights in different places, giving Jon a questionably fair chance against Ryan before the rest of them could think of a plan to end this once and for all. It was a good move, but Evan was still worried about Anthony who could show up from nowhere. And how they would outsmart Ryan and find loopholes about his ability?  
  


Was Jon sacrificing himself? Did he even wonder what would Evan say in all of these? Was this what Jon was trying to tell Evan? To do things he wanted without seeking permission or validation from others? Because it hurt. It hurt to see people go and not given any power to change their minds.  
  


If he could choose an ability, it would be the power to convince people not to leave him. Because it always happened—it was a pattern in his life. He wished the pain lessened the more it happened, but no. Same torture, different people.  
  


Evan cursed inwardly and drew his attention back to the situation.   
  
They shouldn’t have split apart—the crew would function well together, not to mention safe among each other. Aside from that, he also wanted to try out something out—to merge two abilities and create a new power. They hadn’t tried it before, but Evan was certain it would work—the only question was what abilities were compatible with which?  
  


Minutes after Marcel and Brian dove into the portal, Evan was still standing firmly on his spot, knuckles embossed on his fists, as he ran deeper into his own thoughts. As much as he wanted to help Jon right away, Connor was the priority—he needed to hide him somewhere because it would be what Jon would ask him.

Brock.

Evan thought, but his mind returned to reality when he realized that his throat vibrated and he actually voiced that out. Evan turned to where Tyler inspected Connor for more cuts while David tend to the kid’s bruises. Brock was behind them, siting at the steps of the church, staring at his bloody hands that were the cause of his dilemma lately. He had been quiet for a rather long time and Evan had an idea why.

“Brock,” Evan repeated as he got closer, and that snapped his friend out of his trance with a wince, “Are you okay?”

His friend stared at Evan for a few more seconds, blinking rapidly at him as if he was figuring out who he was. A few moments passed by and Evan started to worry, but then Brock shook his head, his Mohawk hair shuffling, his eyes falling once more to his broken hands. “I’m not healing, Evan. David tried for days, but the skin wouldn’t grow back. When I used my power earlier, it bled again. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of dying. I’m afraid of not being able to know if I  _would_ save any of you. It’s a constant question of am I selfless enough, because I know the moment I let it all out, I’d lose myself and I won’t get myself back.”  
  


He said that so fast, in one breath, as if these very words ran around his mind all day that he had come to memorized them.  
  


And there was something heartbreaking at that.  
  


Evan squeezed Brock’s shoulders softly and gave a little smile. "Didn’t you think that even if you want to, we’re not going to let you use your power anymore?”  
  


Brock’s eyes snapped up to meet Evan’s, turning glassy and watery. His mouth opened, but he struggled to force coherent thoughts out, “I…but. . you, guys…”  
  


“I want you to take Connor far away from here.” Evan cut Brock off. “Give him back to his parents, but convince them that you should stay. Bryce or Ryan or Anthony could still go after him.”  
  


Brock was looking up at him, surprise apparent on his face. “You’re entrusting me with Connor’s life?”

  
“Yeah. I’d entrust you with my own life, but you have a history of putting yourself in more danger just to protect me and I’m not having none of that today.” Evan beamed again, this time a little bit wider and more genuine. “Don’t use your ability on this, please? If you die, the collective IQ of our group will drop to negative.”  
  


And Brock threw his head back, laughing and wincing at the same time. Evan giggled at his friend and wrapped his own injured hand around Brock’s. “Welcome me to the messed-up-hands club.”  
  


They shook hands, grins decorated their faces and snorts came with their breathing.  
  


When Evan told his plan to others, Connor hugged Tyler and David ever so tightly and willingly rode Brock’s back, his tiny arms draped over the man’s shoulders.  
  


“Make Uncle Brock stay with you for a long time, alright?” Evan shuffled the kid’s hair, but Connor grabbed Evan’s hand and stared at him right at the eyes.  
  


“Is uncle Jon going to be okay? He didn’t want uncle Marcel to come and save him. Is he going to die because of me?”  
  


“No,” Evan shook his head, but his throat was tightening that he had to clear his throat before continuing, “He’s going to live because of you.”  
  


“And because of you, too, uncle Evan.” Connor boasted a smile. “He wants to live for you, too.”  
  


Evan had nothing sweet to say to that, so he just waved at the two of them as they left. The more their image shrunk into a dot, the more two new figures grew closer towards them from his left. Thanks to the platinum blonde hair of Kryoz, Evan didn’t have to worry for too long if they were some enemy approaching.

“What the fuck!” Lucas panted as he put his hands on his knees. “We just went out for a cigarette and now it’s the end of the world. What is happening?”  
  


Tyler explained the situation, how much they had control over, what was already out of their worries, what Ryan’s ability was, and where Jon and Ryan were currently fighting at.  
  


“But does anyone know what Jon’s ability is?”   
  


No one said anything, and that was an answer itself.

But Evan had a hunch, but he wasn’t analyzing it any further. It had to come from Jon before they could come up a plan that could use his power.

“Fuck!” Tyler removed his helmet and pushed hair out of his forehead. “If he weren’t just being a bitch and actually told us, we’ll know how to protect him.”  
  


“I have a plan.” Evan stared at the empty space between Lucas and Tyler—not quite here and not quite anywhere. His chopped fingers throbbed, but not one pounding bothered him as he sunk his attention deeper into this plan. He wasn’t even sure if he said that out loud, but his mouth was moving. “All of us are scared of lightning, even Ryan. Lucas,” Evan’s hand automatically pointed at the mountain, “Go with Tyler and battle it out with Ryan. If possible, send him to the oceans.  
  


"Kryoz, what kinds of poisons can you make?”  
  


“Any kinds you like, brother. I just use the paralyzing one often because it doesn’t do the killing.”  
  


“Can you poison the ocean?”  
  


Kryoz looked at Evan with surprise, but it melted into an amused grin. He opened his jacket, slid his hand into an inner pocket, and shoved a cigarette into his mouth. “I could poison the ocean so fucking hard the ocean floor would melt.”

**Jon POV**

Jon was knelt beside a dead body, and he couldn’t stand up even though gravels painfully dug into his knees. The corpse’s blue hair danced and swayed against the gentle wind, the glasses on his face askew and cracked, his skin still warm but already in the first stage of paleness.  
  


Beside the dead body were two fingers.  
  


“I was there, Jonathan.” Ryan stood in a distance, “I was there when Evan’s little finger was chopped off. He screamed so loud. Looked at every face, expecting to see yours. He screamed for your name, instead of screaming for help. He was suffering alone, Jonathan. I wish you were there.”  
  


In a flash, Jon was on his feet, storming towards Ryan, seething, shaking, boiling. And when he was face to face with that rock hard face, Jonathan twacked his head against Ryan’s nose. And Jon knew the possibility that it couldn’t have done anything but hurt himself–however Ryan stumbled back and yelped.  
  


The fucker actually yelped.   
  


One side of Jonathan’s lips snake upward, now that he realized Ryan could be hurt despite his solid state.   
  
But he himself was falling with an excruciating pain in his forehead.  
  


He searched a leverage for himself, and next thing he knew, his teeth were destroying Ryan’s shoulders by ripping it off. The scumbag shoved Jonathan and  ** _bellowed_** into the sky with pain. And Jon wasn’t done; unlike his arms, his lower legs were free so he used them to drive his foot onto one of those kneecaps.  
  


But before he could hit home, a huge boulder smacked against him. He was thrown into the ground and the boulder rolled on top of him, pinning him by the leg. Jonathan wiggled and shook his body, but he couldn’t get unstuck.  
  


“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, RYAN. I SWEAR. YOU DESERVE TO DIE ONE FUCKING HORRIBLE DEATH. LET ME FREE. DAMMIT!”  
  


Jon gritted his teeth, his chest about to burst because of all the curses and the nasty words he wanted to spit at Ryan.   
  
There was no indication that Ryan was fuming—he had no eyes that would glare, nor detailed teeth that would bare at him like predatory fangs, nor eyebrows that would lower—but the moment Jon saw Ryan march towards where he was lying on the ground, Jonathan knew his brutal fate.  
  


The abomination crouched and gripped Jon’s left shoulder—then there was a snap.  
  


Jonathan gasped and turned sideways to look at his dislocated shoulder. That was when pain shot up to his destroyed limb—sharp and throbbing—and Jonathan screamed his throat out. The gravels clattered against each other as he writhed on the ground, his mouth simultaneously gasping for air, yelling, and choking up sobs.  
  


“Motherfucker! Put my shoulder back!” Black spots occupied Jon’s vision and he wanted to tend to his injured shoulder but he was still bound.  
  


“Tell me the rules of your power. Pronto.” Ryan ordered, crouched right beside Jon.  
  


The rules were these: If Jon transferred a life to a dead body, then the giver’s consciousness and memory would be fully transferred as well. The old body would deteriorate like how Luke’s did. Not all the corpse could be used, though—they had to be dead long enough but not too long. Even Jon himself didn’t know how much time should pass before he could do the process.

If a corpse were still giving off warmth and still not beyond algor mortis, then the giver could donate some strands of their life, without affecting or controlling the receiver’s body nor transferring memories. It was just like donating blood, but in this case, it was heartbeats. Same would happen with half-dead or injured living people.  
  
And if a full life were to be ridden with another full life, then one of them would be forced out.  
  


“SPEAK!” A punch crunched Jon’s nose and he cried out, but didn’t say anything. He’d hold out any information as long as he could, and maybe it could give others more time to escape.  
  


Jon looked up and saw Ryan swinging another solid fist to his face, a black silhouette against the light of the sun. He was staring at his death, his end, his suffering, and Jon could not respond any better than letting his eyelids fall shut.

Right there, in his own little darkness behind his lids, he had his own world. It was dark at first, then endless rice fields rolled out like a carpet and made the scene gold and vibrant, complimenting the blue shade of the spotless sky. Jon heard the wind first—its muffled rustling and the crops’ mutterings—before he felt it crashing against his body. His hair and clothes shuffled and sang with the crops. To his right there was a small cabin, its gray splintering terrace a contrast to the two newly barnished rocking chairs near the door, its windows polished. Speaking of the door, it opened a sliver, and it remained slightly swaying against the gusts for quite some time.

Then there were fingers, thin and small, that gripped the jamb. And Jon waited for whoever that was to peak through that little gap, but the door was pulled wide open and presented a man with glazed honey eyes, rich tan skin, a smile that Jon rarely saw, and—  
  


Jon’s attention was caught by movement around Evan’s legs, and as jolly and wild and adorable he imagined them to be, little children—three of them: one girl and two boys—hugged the man’s legs. When Jon was about to send an inquisitive look towards Evan, he saw two more kids on his shoulder. They all were attached to Evan like chicks to the hen, and they were all looking at Jon with tooth gaps, eyes too big on those little faces, swollen cheeks from laughing.  
  


They were all waiting for Jon.  
  


But his heart surged up to his throat, choking him, even though one second ago he was blinded and swamped with relief and serenity—because he wanted that, he wanted that family for himself to live with for the rest of his life. But he knew it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real yet.

Jon opened his eyes.  
  


The sky was just as bright as the one from his imagination, but the space he expected Ryan to be was empty.  
  


Jonathan’s jaw worked when he tried to prop himself up using his elbows—he must have a broken rib and a messed up ankle from the huge chunk of stone Ryan flung at him earlier—which was still pinned on his leg. His shoulder, although surprisingly fixed, throbbed with pain. Ryan must have realized that he couldn’t hurt Jon too much or he would have no strength left to do his bidding.  
  


His eyes roamed around, his head tilting to the side to peak through the gaps of the trees, his neck craning to get a better vantage point of the field—but there was no sign of his enemy. This was his chance.  
  


Immediately, he slammed one hand on to the ground and shot a blue flame underneath. His mind concentrated at the path of his own little life, maneuvering and transferring it from a small living organism to another one—until he found a root of a living tree. The blue flame exploded on the root of an unknown tree, and he felt it grow four times larger than it was. As a result, the ground Jon was on shifted, disturbed by the sudden movement, and it made the earth rise a little bit.  
  


Enough for the boulder to roll off him.  
  


Jon cried out in joy and comfort, and he would have let himself fall on his back again but he had to get out of here—free himself from these ties, take the corpse, and get out.  
  


As another repercussion of disturbing the sloping ground of Mount Viers, the lava in the mouth was higher and so much closer to pouring out. It was what Jon looked over his shoulder for from time to time as he ground the rope against a rough bark of a fallen tree. It was working for a good amount of time, until he realized his skin was being rubbed raw in the process as well.   
  


He went over the dead man—Craig, according to his nameplate—and picked the corpse up from the ground, and slung his arm over his warm shoulder—which was hard to do when he was as stiff as a board now. The dead body was cold against him and in some version of the world, Jon would have shivered, his hair would have risen from his spine up to his neck. But in this world, he didn’t. He knew full well how to die, how to feel even colder when you thought you were already cold, how to shiver even though surrounded by warm things and warm people. He didn’t want to experience that again, so he shouldn’t let Ryan use him to transfer his life to this body—because that would make him use a LOT of his life. Jon already lost so much when he rescued Evan, so he was sure he would die if he performed another one today.

No grasses cushioned his bare feet on the ground as he dragged the corpse with him, and it was more painful than the pricking of gravel into his knees earlier. There was a plan in his mind—he would stall and stall and let Craig’s body go through decomposition process, because the longer it was dead, the less chance it can be a host to Ryan’s life.

Jon was looking down on the ground, eager to find loop holes of this plan, when a shadow loomed over them—dark, black, and wide.  
  


Jon stopped walking, his gaze stilling firmly at the horizon in front of him, not giving in the urge to look up.  
  


“I know the rules of your powers now. Bryce heard you thinking one time. Transfer my life to him." Ryan’s voice, a whisper, sounded too close to Jon, like the fucking devil was talking onto his nape.  
  


So Ryan went over to Bryce to ask just that, that was why the scum was gone.  
  


"Or what?” Jon grinned, making sure humor laced with his tone, “Drop that and you’ll have no one to help you transfer that pathetic life of yours.”  
  


“Don’t think I won’t,” said Ryan in a cold hard voice. “You’d die. And you’ll wait for another twelve years to live, while I can kill all the people you live for. I’d gladly watch your face once you learn you have no one to go back to.”

And then Jonathan made a huge mistake—he imagined that happening. He saw himself rising from his own grave next to a newly dug one, and at first he didn’t know whom it was for until he saw a hearse slowing to a stop. There were no people in black nor white that tailed the vehicle, but in their stead were four burly men who would lower the coffin into its grave. Jon would look down as dirt stained the white casket below, but his attention would be taken by the tombstone with owl engravings.  
  


Evan Fong, it would say. And it would suddenly click. Evan had no family left, so there wasn’t a proper funeral. And if their friends didn’t come, it meant…  
  
Jon would float up higher in the air and he would see below all the once-vacant places in this graveyard, once riddled with wild weed, now fully occupied by new headstones etched with names he used to call with mock, irritation, and curses.  
  


Jon’s graveyard would be everyone else’s, too.  
  


His knees buckled and he fell to the ground like drape, Craig’s body slumping with him. “Just tell me,” Tears blocking his view of his hands that would be filled with his friends’ blood if he didn’t do this. “Just tell me what to do.”  
  


“You know what I want. Do it.”   
  


Jonathan sniffed, wiped his tears with his arms, and touched one palm to the ground, the other on Craig’s chest. If Ryan was earth, then Jon could pull his life out of this mountain soil and transfer it this poor dead man. Blue flame-like smoke bounced off of his skin, braiding with his hair, seeping out of his nose and mouth as he breathed it in and out. Jon had taken life three times since he got this ability, and each life felt different from one another.  
  


For one, Luke’s felt like a stream of water in his veins, covering the rusty smell of his blood by petrichor, cleaning the rotting and the decaying in his body. It was nothing short of pleasant—it could have been more of a pleasure and addiction to his system if he weren’t a bit guilty of killing the man’s life. Ryan’s, on the other hand, felt like scarce grasses. His life was scattered everywhere so it felt like Jon was plucking grasses one by one from the ground and planting them patch by patch to another land.  
  
A stream of blood surged from his left nostril like a spike, nausea hitting him just as fast. It was now starting. He was just in the initial stage of the transfer, and his body was already failing him. And since he had used his ability to Luke and to the new tree earlier, he was going to bleed more than this.  
  


“If Evan didn’t sit on that swing, this wouldn’t have happened to me. Me and my friends would be normal. You guys were the only ones suffering.”  
  


With his energy already draining, Jon shouldn’t step into the trap and spend his strength in arguing. But his mouth couldn’t just  _not_ defend Evan against this scumbag. This was the second one today. “If you weren’t being a bully, then you must be taking your degree in Harvard right now. Don’t pin it on Evan.”  
  


“I thought you understand,” Surprisingly, Ryan was calmer when he spoke. At first, Jon thought it was the kind when one caught sight of their trophy and confirmed that they indeed won. But Ryan’s tone was much worse than that—it felt like he was letting his guard down, letting his walls collapse, saying all these to him, because he knew Jon wouldn’t be alive after this to tell a soul. What’s more terrifying was, Jon agreed—he would die after all these.

“Someone had to be the bully among us friends. My friends. . .they are good kids, good people. And it hurt me to see their eyes red every time we meet at lunch. We’re not your ordinary kids—we’re nerds and you guys were the cool ones. And the moment I saw Evan on that swing, I know Brian and Tyler are going to intimidate us so Evan could stay there and take what they want from us and leave my friends thinking  _‘there wasn’t any escape from being bullied_.’ So I did what I had to do. We’re the same. You and I. You did what you had to do that night.”  
  


Jonathan took a fistful of dirt from the ground and hurled it to the side. “No, we’re not the same. Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t want to be bullied, and your way to fix that is to become the bully yourself. And if that isn’t the most bullshit reason to become a bully then I don’t know what is.”  
  


"You’re one to talk. We didn’t kill Evan, but you killed Luke. You don’t know him, yet you killed him. You’d never choose a friend who’s not loyal once you’re friends with Luke.”  
  


“You’re saying that but you sound unaffected at all.” Jon gritted his teeth because Luke’s death wasn’t nothing to him. He was guilty of how he felt serene and happy as he took the man’s life, how he felt like he scored a goal or did a homerun. The thought that he gladly took his life sent his skin crawling.  
  


To make it all worse, Jon would do it all over again.  
  


Guilty but not resentful.  
  


Then Jon felt blood oozing out of his right ear, trickling down to his jaw. His mouth started drying, his breathing intermittent puffs and huffs. He was fourty-percent complete—he had a lot to go through to finish this—yet he didn’t know if he could get it done with his state.  
  


Because if this current plan he was trying to do failed, then he had nothing more up his sleeve.  
  


Under his left hand, between his palm and the dead man’s chest, was Evan’s grandmother’s seed.   
  


Where he had been transfering Ryan’s life into. All this time.  
  


But once the seed was filled with halfway, Ryan would notice how he wasn’t feeling any changes when he should. He should be able to move the dead body on his own; the motions would be weak but totally in his control.  
  


Jon must find some distraction.

“Long time, no see, Ryan!” A voice boomed above, but it was punctuated by a sharp howl of thunder that Jon almost jumped out of his skin, his body tensing while his bones rattled. His eyebrows quivered, in a futile attempt to hide his fear of lightning. And remembered he didn’t have to. They were all scared of that thing.  
  


When he looked up, Lucas was perfectly balanced in the air, a thundercloud following him with spikes of lightning that occasionally speared through, a grin displaying on his face as if being right here was already a victory to him. Tyler, on the other hand, was keeping a good distance from the man, but without losing his grip on the air that supported Lucas.  
  


And Jon looked down and snickered to himself.  
  


He was just presented with the greatest distraction he could ever wish for.  
  


**Lucas’s POV**

  
When he was a kid, rumors had it that Lucas was a different child. The only type of different that parents accepted. He knew how to recognize eighteen colors at three years old and learned to tickle the ivories at an age younger than that.  
  


One would say he was intelligent.  
  


Everyone expected him to bag the highest honorable mention at the end of the school years even though school just started, even though he was just in grade school. His mom already bought clothes for herself and for her boyfriend—made plans to go to an island vacation the summer that would come right after graduation.   
  


Imagine their disappointment when Lucas wasn’t in the top ten smartest kid in his class.  
  


Because Lucas was not intelligent—he was observant. He learned colors because of the sky, and he hated everyone who told that the color of the sky was blue. Because it wasn’t. Sometimes it looked like the sun melted and the vibrant orange color was scrubbed and rubbed all over the sky. Sometimes it was pink, like a vast blanket of cotton candy that made his mouth water, whenever the night seemed to forget to seduce day into sleep.

_  
And don’t get me started describing the navy blue sky that rivaled the darkest blue color of the ocean floor_ …

  
Playing the piano, it was easy to learn. He always watched his real dad play, his fingers almost as long as the white keys—elegant despite the callouses. Lucas observed—and memorized—which vein would pop up his father’s back hand if his pinkie reached the farthest C chord, what octave he would play a song from when he was tired, which song he would let Lucas sing along to. Eventually, he got to try his dad’s favorite song and realized he memorized even the chords.  
  


Being observant was in his nature. He first noticed something wrong in Ryan’s attitude when they were young—when Bryce met them with red eyes. He said he was bullied because he was so thin and tall.  
  


Ryan was late to their meeting the next day.  
  


A week after, Luke and Anthony were covered in bandages because some kids thought they were the lamest people in the group so they were the perfect  _pigs_  to experiment on.  
  


Ryan changed after that, maybe to some it was gradual, but to Lucas, it was so obvious every day. How his jaw worked the moment he saw one of them limping; his fists would clench as hard many times during the whole duration they were all hanging out. How his once hearty laugh would become something forceful because he was clearly not listening to the stories as he stared at the opening and closing of his palms. How he became so sensitive to the things around him, to the possibility that someone in the place would hurt one of them.   
  


Then, no one suspected anything—they thought Ryan’s attitude was natural. It wasn’t. Because Ryan was never violent nor angry. He was the most gentle person Lucas had ever met. He would make their garage a temporary home for raccoons whenever it was raining hard. He would rather shoo flies and mosquitoes away than hit them with those electric tennis rackets. He never got angry, too, and he would laugh things off like he was made of rubber and all the jabs just bounced back to the world.  
  


_But maybe the suffering of people you love has a greater impact than our own mischief.  
  
_

Ryan built his aura first. They all saw the change by the time he started wearing a bandana low on his forehead, the unrelentless glare that flared at anyone who looked at them wrong.  
  


Then he built his reputation. He barked at people who raised a note of their tone while talking to his friends and to himself—eventually no one approached nor dared speak to them anymore. Ryan’s reasoning was always like this: If they don’t talk to us nicely, then they stay out of our way. But what he didn’t understand—it wasn’t about the tone people would use to talk to them, it was about Ryan’s tone when he talked to people. No matter what others said, he was fuming and barking.  
  


He became the bad guy, just so he could make it that people wouldn’t hurt his friends anymore.  
  


Lucas didn’t know there was that kind of love.  
  


Many of his friends like that, someone standing up for them, so they let Ryan be this monster he turned out to be. Lucas and John were the only individuals who thought otherwise. But to be fair, the two of them rarely hang out with Ryan’s gang. Lucas only joined them for playground weekends and camping.  
  


Because those times—surprise, surprise—he could watch the sky.   
  


That was why Lucas was the first one to notice the dark clouds that night Brian and Tyler’s group was stargazing. He was the first to feel the building up of lightning of a low cloud above them. When a blue-hooded kid started running back and forth to throw a punch here and there, Lucas grabbed John’s hand.   
  


“Step. Back. Quietly.” Lucas had whispered.  
  


Even though there was confusion painted on John’s face, he still nodded and retreated with Lucas. Because John was John—Lucas didn’t understand it but the man was made of trust in Lucas.  
  


They weren’t fast enough nor early enough that night; the electricity snatched them back into the spot—current invading their system, forging a body that could cater to something  _more_.  
  


And as if it knew what Lucas loved the most, it gave him the ability to summon different weathers the sky could possibly sport.  
  


Now, as if fate favored him greatly, he was up in the sky with Tyler’s wind. So close to the sky that it looked like if he raised a hand so far up, he would be able to take a part of it and have a taste of its texture.  
  


It shouldn’t be a priority right now, but he had to do this, had to take the feeling in and savor it as long he could. Because Lucas knew that the moment he recognized any sign of Ryan, his restless brain would start to record details and encrypt data, his heart would give off a bitter aura just remembering the last time they talked.  
  


Which had led up to Lucas being unconscious and helped by the very people Ryan hated.  
  


Lucas and Tyler reached the mountain top, giving them a top view of  _everything_. The place was like a gentle destruction—the lava boiled near the brim of the crater and the trees were leaning away from the scene as if afraid to be witnesses of deaths and vengeance, but beyond the mountain was an endless terrain of green fields, thick forests, and simple houses bordered by clean gray roads. What Lucas was having was the view of the disaster before it even became that.  
  


At a steep spot of the mountain was where Jonathan was kneeling by a body, like a lifeguard about to pump a drowned person’s chest. Jonathan had obvious tears running and glittering on his face, along with blood, as his hand shook by just settling his palm on the surface of the ground. The other man was someone Lucas was familiar with, and he might have seen him at the university where John was studying. But aside from those two, there was no one else in the area.   
  


But Lucas knew better. “Long time no see, Ryan.” The quiet place was disturbed as his voice echoed so loud that it rattled his own bones. But it did more than let everyone know his presence—it also gave Lucas the impression that Ryan was indeed around.  
  


Because the place grew even more silent.  
  


“You’re listening, aren’t you,  _brother_? Missed me?” As he taunted Ryan, Lucas eyes bore into Tyler, directing him to look at Jonathan’s direction. Tyler did and his eyes narrowed at the Jonathan, nodding back at Lucas without tearing his gaze away from the bloody man.  
  


Because Jonathan, with blood streaming from his nose and ears, had a sly yet discrete smile on his face.   
  


“Ryan, your dear friend is here.” Tyler shouted right before he soared up to where Lucas was.  
  


“You awful friend is planning something.” Lucas’s words weren’t even a question—they both knew it. “Do you think we shouldn’t do Evan’s plan if Jonathan had something?"   
  


With a whispering voice, Tyler leaned a little bit to Lucas. "Jon was in distress before we arrived. I looked for him first. This means he needs our presence. Stall or something.”  
  


Lucas’s gaze dropped at the ground below him, a smile splitting on his face from ear to ear. “Fine, Ryan. Maybe I’ll force you out of your habitat.”  
  


The thundercloud hovering just above Lucas expanded above their heads, a shadow of his own making. Lucas stared at the palm of his right hand—he splayed his finger so wide just like reaching two Fs of two octaves.  
  


And as he did that, his cloud stretched and hovered across the vibrant plains, its shadow spilling onto the treacherous slope of the mountain, darkness eating trees one by one by one.  
  


He watched until the tails of his clouds met horizons—then he crushed air in his palm.  
  


Lightning struck the mountains in different areas, giving temporary light to the darkest part of the forest, causing trees to catch fire. Some hit the crater. Lava sloshed and spit liquid fire out of the mountain’s mouth. The ocean was struck too, electricity momentarily glossing over the water, bolts crawling like a spider over it.  
  


Lightning speared somewhere near Lucas and Tyler, and Lucas fought ever so hard to not flinch nor shiver nor widen his eyes.

Because even being able to summon lightning, he was still scared of it. He could still remember the fire that charged at his limbs that made them crank and move involuntarily painful like he was a marionette and Mother Earth was the puppeteer. Lucas’s only upperhand was he could make people more afraid than him.  
  


Suddenly, there was a swollen bump on the ground, a couple meters away from the mouth. It grew into a terrifying shape of a person, but instead of skin and muscle, there were only sharp-edged rocks. Molten burning stones pieced together on top of its head like hair. Slimmer bars at its sides opened wide, like arms welcoming him home.  
  


“Did you miss me that much, my little traitor? Where’s Kryoz? Maybe I should punish you by torturing him? Did you see what our friends did to Evan? Are you going to pretend again that you’re proud of us?”  
  


Lucas wasn’t fazed with threats, especially when they were empty and when he knew John would poison himself before he suffered.  
  


He  _thought_  he wasn’t fazed.  
  


Because Lucas’s shivered to the thought of John dying.  _What happened?_  He was always fine thinking of John dead than the idea that he would be in a lot of pain—it even became an inside joke between them. They had talked about that for many nauseating times, and agreed that if they couldn’t take their own lives then they would have to kill each other. They thought it was the best way to go.  
  


_What changed?  
  
_

“That’s right. I’m the traitor. Glad we’re on the same page here.”  
  


“You were my little brother, Lucas. How could you leave me for these…” The head of the human rock turned at Tyler, “. . .these arrogant people? We endured rain together. I took you in. You slept in my house when your mama decided you weren’t smart enough to be her son. I treated you like family. Why did you leave me?”  
  


When Evan asked Lucas to go to the top of the mountains and face Ryan, Lucas had hardened himself—wore thick skin, deafened his ears, made his heart numb just so he wouldn’t be affected by Ryan’s words.  
  


But no matter how many layers of armor he wore to protect himself from Ryan’s words, it was his mind itself who hurt Lucas.  
  


Because he had memories of those days he didn’t care about what others think of him, as long as he had Ryan as his brother.  
  


He remembered those times when Ryan was still his old self, he would play skip stones with Lucas, and he would pick tiny ugly rocks to let Lucas win because he knew Lucas liked winning. And that time when he was so jealous of Ryan because he could climb a tree, while Lucas had a sprained ankle. Ryan purposely jumped wrong and injured his own, and the next day they had canes with crow handles. They looked so stupid. There was also a night when Ryan was sent to ER because one time, Lucas told him he loved snakes and Ryan was a thoughtful idiot who tried to catch one for his little brother’s birthday. He got bitten.  
  


One lifetime ago, he would have jumped into a fire to save Ryan, would have let dogs chase himself if it only meant Ryan could run free. He would have tried to retrieve him from hell if he had to, because then, Ryan was worth saving.  
  


Then.

“Because,” Lucas held his voice firm and unwavering as he was trying so hard to not let his throat tighten. “. . You first left me. And I didn’t leave you even so. I waited. Thought maybe you’d go back to the way you were before. The real you. But I only watched you walked so far away from me, so far out of reach. So I had to leave you, too.”  
  


“You know that’s not true, I–"   
  


But Lucas didn’t want to accept any reason from the man. He hurled both of his hands forward and lighting spiked from every corner and through the rock that pretended to be human. Every single bolt went for the spot where his heart was supposed to be, and Ryan roared, his body trembling just like how the ground did just right now.  
  


Tyler whipped passed Lucas in the air, and with a yell, he instructed him, "Keep on doing that! Will just check with Jonathan. I can still carry you from afar.”  
  


But Tyler was only a couple of meters away when a huge lava rock soared from below and onto Lucas’s direction. He screamed Tyler’s name, because his ability was the only way that could make Lucas avoid the thing. At the last second, just when he could feel the hot boulder’s heat near his toes, Tyler shifted the wind and Lucas was thrown back. Lucas was thankful because the thing was too fast that it was a blur when it passed in front of him. If Lucas were hit, he would have been unconscious in the very least.  
  


Lucas thought the rock was just an accident for being near an active volcano, but he was wrong, because when he looked around, bigger rocks formed a ring around his level—hovering and waiting.   
  


“Tyler, forget Jonathan for a second!”  
  


A boulder was zinging towards him, tearing through air as if it were just a pebble. Another one came from the opposite direction, but just as fast. And Lucas calculated which would reach him first, but it seemed like they would hit him at the same time. And according to his deductions to the situation and insights on Tyler’s ability, Lucas couldn’t be saved by the wind. So he curled there in the air—braced his spine, folded himself in two, bordered his head with his arms—for the impact of the two rocks crashing.  
  


He was just about to close his eyes when his world spun, and suddenly a huge explosion of dusts, dirt, and pebbles happened just above his nose, clattering noises swarming his hearing that made him too stunned to move away. But he didn’t have to move away—he was flung so far away from the collision that his back almost hit other rocks in the circle.  
  


Which were already vibrating in excitement to crush Lucas.  
  


This wasn’t good. Tyler would easily become exhausted with this, because being lifted by air came with a price—he wasn’t able to run or make big movements. And Lucas only knew one way to help the wind bringer on this messy situation—to stop hitting the mountain with lightning and use them instead to turn rocks into dusts.  
  


Ryan, if Lucas was correct in his speculations, was unbeatable as long as they were in any land—so it was really perfect that Lucas who controlled the sky and Tyler who controlled the wind were sent to battle Ryan. Evan knew what he was doing. Despite, the two of them were still losing to Ryan so far, the latter being able to pull out boulders out of their grave as weapons. And he wasn’t going to run out of them as long as they were on a mountain.  
  


Having the fight transferred into another place was impossible. Unless Marcel was here, which was not the case.  
  


But what if…  
  


Could Ryan use his ability on compact cements and pavement? Something he couldn’t budge that easily?   
  


What if…

What if the whole mountain was covered in cement? The earth would be contained underneath it and if Ryan were to become weak enough, he wouldn’t be able to burst through that.  
  


Oh, because he was getting weaker. His shoulder slumping more and more, his chest moving in erratic breathing.

The question was, where would Lucas get cement? The rocks continued being hurled at him; sometimes he struck them through with his lightnings, but sometimes Tyler was there to save him from the things he couldn’t see. Some hot stones went to Tyler, too, but he was able to protect himself and Jonathan with his wind, making air sharp as sword as it met debris.  
  


Lucas stared at the mouth of the volcano, rather too long that a sharp rock clipped his chin and his head snapped backward. But instead of cursing in pain, he started laughing.   
  


“Oh, my brother,” he continued snickering. “I hope you can feel what I’m feeling right now. Gratefulness. Glee. I’m happy I decided to leave you. I would have been dead like Luke and Bryce and Anthony."   
  


"You’re really ungrateful of what I’ve done!” A voice echoed around, and it was full of rage that the ground started shaking, the lava rising to the brim. Lucas smiled to himself.   
  


Maybe Lucas was smart after all. As a line of blood traversed from his nose, Lucas intensified his lightning—he struck all of the open surface of the mountain, to hurt Ryan physically and mentally.  
  


“Stop it, Lucas! You’re not proving anything to them by doing this.” Ryan, as if he was gritting his teeth, scolded.

“I don’t want to side with anyone for the record. I just want you to stop being this type of vengeful person.”  
  


“I just want a human body! That’s all I need Jonathan for!”  
  


“BULLSHIT!” Blood seeped from Lucas’s eyes as his lightning became restless on this part of the mountain. Bolts started coming down from the clouds and caged Lucas with neon blue electricity, his clothes singeing, his hair rising. “The last time we talked, I got beaten up for trying to change your mind. I don’t care who else dies, I just don’t want to see you and not recognize you at the same time.”  
  


“I’m doing this for us, Lucas.” The moment the voice sported low and dangerous tone, Lucas knew he was successful. The earth grumbled once more and lava spilled over the lip of the volcano.   
  


“Tyler, take Jonathan and the other person up here!"   
  


As the man did that, Lucas bombarded the earth with more lightning than he could create for a month. Blood burst from his ears, and his ribs felt like they were being cramped together. He bit his tongue to avoid screaming—not in front of Ryan. Not in front of anyone but John. His heart grew so loud in his chest, like it was summoning its own lightning between his lungs, and it felt like it was going to explode.  
  


And it would be. It would be if he continued this. And he didn’t plan on ending his life like this. Why was he doing this anyway?  
  


Because he still loved Ryan as a brother. Lucas wanted to see Ryan dead, before he became too corrupted of his power and vengeance. The only way he would want to see Ryan’s grave was if he died with at least a strand of dignity and kindness in his heart.   
  


When Tyler and half-conscious Jonathan, who was holding a plant in his hand, arrived beside him, Lucas jammed both of his arms in the air and screamed. 

With one huge surge of firebolt that deafened even his own thoughts, the mountain was cracked at the surface and Ryan roared so loud it was even louder than the lightning itself. When lava overflowed, so fast and hot, Lucas waited for it to almost cover halfway of the mountain, then he summoned rain.  
  


The lava that coated the Mount Viers turned solid as it was mixed with water, the process involved a lot of hissing noise and steam. If Lucas remembered correctly, this was how basalt was formed.  
  


After a few moments, when the steam gave way to the scenery below, Lucas saw the mountain in hard black charcoal, little bumps here and there told him that trees weren’t meant to survive that. The black surface wasn’t as sturdy as a cement, but Ryan should be weak enough to not be able to destroy it.  
  


Did he do it? Did he start the downfall of his brother? Was Lucas happy? He didn’t actually know.  
  


Lucas thought of John, a grin unconsciously stretching his mouth wide. John always said that Lucas was smart and should be the leader of the group.   
  


Maybe Kryoz was right. Not about being a leader but about being smart. Many people told Lucas was intelligent, but he didn’t believe anyone until now.  
  


He didn’t believe much in himself until now.  
  


When it was too late to tell John that he might be right.  
  


_Wait,_ he thought,  _who’s John?_ And the Lucas’s heart stopped beating, when air refused to come in and out of his bloody nose and mouth.  
  


**Jon’s POV:  
  
**

When the first crack of the seed gave way, a green leaf sprouted out of it, tickling Jon’s palm. It reminded him of Connor when he was a baby, little and cute. And Jon should have savored that moment, should have admired that fluffy thing that was born in the middle of war, because the next crack of the seed, it was a wooden branch that pricked his skin.   
  


He turned his palm up and saw the bud of blood surrounded by his blue glow. It stung a little bit, but his body was too tired to pull even a wince out of him, his eyes heavy and unfocusing.   
  


Lightning assaulted the area around Jon—one moment, trees were lush, their leaves looked soft as they swayed gently with Tyler’s wind, and the next moment, they became the aftermath of a lit match stick. Not only that but the lightning and thunder got him so scared that where blood burst from his eyes poured tears as well—Jon didn’t know which was which as they both raced down his chin. 

And no matter how triggering these events were and no matter how much he was frightened, his heart wasn’t racing anymore.  
  


It retained itself in its normal pace—like when he was casually walking to the backyard or that time after sleep when he didn’t know he had died and was a ghost—even though there’s nothing in here but ruination and death.  
  


It wasn’t Jon’s life that was being transferred, but his heartbeats were getting scarce, slowing down, and it was painful to breathe. His lungs were so helpless because despite how intensely they hacked air, Jon’s pulse wouldn’t catch up to his adrenaline. 

"Shit.” Jon shook his head. He gulped and breathed deeply to try to warm the coldness that sat at the bottom of his stomach—because its claws were crawling up the walls of his system.  
  


As if his body knew he was near his own finish line, his heartbeats slowed into a pace only dirges would dare go to.  
  


The hand that touched the seed and the hand that touched the ground blurred—his sense of touch came away with the sharpness of his vision. And if he didn’t know better, he might think that he was turning into a ghost again. But beyond his skin and arms, the world around him reduced to a colorful haze, too.  
  


He was seventy-five percent done. After this, no more. After this day, it wouldn’t fucking matter if he was in pain. Because he would live. He would live a life with Evan. So took keep himself awake, he thought of that life with his fast runner. Waking up to lips finding a spot on Jon’s forehead, stretching into a smile when Jonathan would whine about his own bad breath. Listening to Evan sing for the two of them when the sky brought more than an overcast and the two of them feared the coming lightning. Dancing to retro songs on the radio of his jeep—Evan, leaning on the hood of the vehicle, would watch Jon dance closer to him.   
  


And maybe years later, Jon would be mowing the lawn in a messy way because he would make sharp turns as he avoided running over their little kids who played cops and robbers. Evan would play with them, because they both knew how competitive Jonathan could get, and there would be a possibility of him changing the rules just so the little kids wouldn’t win. Then all of them would eat dinner in one table, plates and cutlery placed near the edges, little hands going for the meat first. Then at night, Evan would read stories to the kids, but Jonathan would be the first one to fall asleep.  
  


He could see it all.  
  


The dream was so strong that he could taste it, could almost feel it materializing in the air.  
  


He felt sticky blood squelching against the seed and the man’s chest as his hand trembled. Maybe it was the same liquid down his cheeks, out of his ear, along his jaw—they all met at his chin and there they dropped. 

  
He was dying. 

  
He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He couldn’t move. His mind only wanted to do what he was doing last time he was fully conscious—transfer life into the seed. He tried to open his mouth and maybe talk and call Tyler a bitch, but his lips remained shut.  
  


But…who was Tyler again?  
  


Blood poured from his nose.  
  


“Jonathan, stop. STOP!”  
  


An arm wrapped around his shoulder, and then he was being dragged from the body. His hand was outstretched, reaching for the corpse, until he realized that he didn’t need the body—he only wanted the seed.

Which was in his hand still.  
  


His sole left the ground and he was being lifted up and up and up. He saw drops of his blood slanting all the way down.   
  


“Stupid idiot. You didn’t practice with us, that’s why a little bit use of your power make you lost your consciousness right away.”  
  


Him being far away from his goal, made his memory return to him one by one.  
  


_I was close to transferring Ryan’s life into the seed and the seed’s starting to grow_. . .  
  


“I still don’t know what your ability is because you’re a little bitch. I should have beat the shit out of your when we were at the pool.”  
  


Rain pattered down on him, washing his face away from blood, washing his body from terse muscles. The seed was ten percent lacking, ten percent away from being a full grown tree. He was so close to saving people!  
  
Ryan would still be able to roam around below the earth freely—he would be weak, but he could escape to any place where there was land and he could regain his strength for months.  
  


“I’m not dumb like you,” Tyler insulted.“ For Ryan to want your ability real bad, it means your ability is important. Like maybe giving a life or something. But we also know what happened to Luke so I know it’s two way. So yeah, I don’t need your confirmation, ass hat, stupid bitch. I know your secret.”  
  


“Shut the fuck up.” The voice was so far away, but it was his.

Tyler grinned at him. “I know I’d irritate you somehow.”  
  


“You never fail.” He looked at the sky and saw a floating, unconscious body. “Is that Lucas?”  
  


And Tyler brought Lucas down and pulsed him. And the way he was cursing suggested that there should be something more he was feeling in the man’s wrist, but what it was, it wasn’t there. “Let’s bring him to Kryoz and Evan.”  
  


“Where?”  
  


“Ocean.”  
  


**Evan’s POV, Trigger warning: cutting. (Skip the bold text.)  
  
**

Evan, David, and Kryoz faced the ocean, waves rolling fast as if keen to grace the men’s soles, mount Viers slopping lava over its mouth behind them. The latter part was the most critical part of the plan—it gave them an even shorter time they had to execute their plans. They had to poison the ocean before the lava reach them—that way, they wouldn’t have to decide whether they wanted to die by melting or by being burned alive.  
  


But as they stared at the waters, it occurred to Evan how vast the ocean really was and how much poison Kryoz had to put into it to contaminate not only the water but also the ocean floor. Which wasn’t even possible if their source was one sole body.  _How are we going to pull it off? Does this plan would even weaken Ryan? What would they do if it doesn’t?  
  
_

Evan was in deep thought, busy having discussions among himself, when Kryoz turned to him with a deadpanned look.  
  


“Cut me.”  
  


A muscle twitched in Evan’s jaw. He stepped backward.  
  


Kryoz pushed his sleeves up to his elbow, his mouth blowing a bubble gum in a green color. When it popped, the aroma of mint exploded on Evan’s face and Kryoz spoke again. “I said cut me. Someone has to wound me. If I did it, it wouldn’t activate its defense mechanism which is the poison.” Then Kryoz mouth was broad across his face, the obvious tease lightening up his eyes and diluting his nonchalance **. “It’s not that hard. You been doing it before** **.”**

**Evan instinctively raised his good hand over his right wrist, even though it was covered by his long sleeve. Nothing happened yet, but the tang of blood was already there, the rust tingling hitting his nostrils.**  It always  _always_  discovered the way to his nostrils, just like how a bird would always find its perch, and it never failed to push Evan to the edge.  
  


And right now, he was so. close. to. losing. it.  **His eyes only looked at the blood on the rag of his wound, sweat sliding down across his spine, his throat closing, and his head flashing with all kinds of memory that contained blood spilling over his open flesh running down his arm and flooding the white floor. He would pace around until he was weak and until his blinding white bathroom floor was smeared with dark wine that it could measure up to a murder scene. _  
  
_**But in the end, he always called for help, making himself realize that he wasn’t ready to die yet. **  
  
**

“Kryoz,” David stepped between Evan and the man, definitely aware of how color left Evan’s complexion, how his breathing was composed of short gasps. “Don’t torture the man.”  
  


“I’ll do it.” Evan recognized his own voice—the hoarse tone that matched with the husk in his own throat.Nothing in Evan was ready to see cuts inflicted by his own hands again, and he had not an idea why he just volunteered, but something in him told that he had to face this. Because eventually in the future, he would meet this monster in the eyes again. And if Evan’s biggest misery would end today, then he had to leave this one in this day as well. One day for all of his demons.  
  


So he pushed David to the side and grabbed Kryoz’s wrist.  **He looked at the blonde dead in the eyes because Evan didn’t have to stare down at those arms—he knew how deep the blade could go or how long the wound should be for serious wounds. He did it to his right arm, the one he used to pull his parents.  
  
**

**He tried not to flinch to the memories that invaded his mind when he felt the snap of veins against the blade. But it was still all too familiar.**

  
His cheeks were dry, but Evan still wiped them with his sleeve, just in case he hadn’t held his feelings back well. When he stepped away from Kryoz, he didn’t inspect his work—there was nothing that could make his head tilt down and confirm that he really did just cut flesh. Then Kryoz gave him a small smirk and moved to where the waves crashed—the blood that dropped to the ground made the sand hissed and turn into something gooey.  
  


“Come here, Evan.”  
  


His head swiveled so fast.   
  


His gaze settled.  
  


Evan didn’t have to force his body to do anything—it knew what it wanted and what it just had to do. He ran, even though his brain was trying to entertain the idea that maybe this was a part of his distress of blood earlier—that Jon wasn’t really here and Evan was just hallucinating.

Or Jon was a ghost again.

  
So when is body slammed against Jon, his arms coiling around his neck, Evan laughed with glee at the warmth that greeted him. Jon was alive. Stubborn. Independent. Alive.  
  
He cupped Jon’s cheeks and tried to relearn everything the blue eyes expressed. He savored the heat that assured Evan that Jon was still ridden with life. He memorized the sharp angles of his jaw that dug on Evan’s soft palms. He buried his nose to Jon’s cheek, eyes closed, inhaling his favorite scent in the world.  
  


“You’re alive,” Evan whispered, but it was more like a gasp, “Not a ghost at all. I can touch you.”  
  


“And I can feel you,” Jon confirmed, sighing. “You okay?”   
  


Basking himself in Jonathan’s presence, Evan remained silent, because he had no answer.  
  


Instead, he let themselves watch Kryoz dipping his body into the water up to his neck, and immediately, the ocean lost its light blue color to the dark wine of Kryoz’s wounds. The man’s pallor was so unnatural that he was almost whiter than his own hair, and he looked like he was rippling along with the water because he was trembling. David wasn’t far from the man’s spot, too, and he seemed ready to use his ability and save Kryoz from total loss of blood.  
  


Everyone was too focused on the poisoning of the water that they were surprise when Tyler appeared hovering above all of them, sending sharp gusts towards the ocean and causing the waves to curl away from them—which was a good strategy to spread Kryoz’s poisonous blood further. But these intense bursts of wind were too strong that Kryoz, who was deep in the water, was now standing on dry sand as if water didn’t want a taste of him and his blood anymore.  
  


Evan was about to order Tyler to abate the burst when Kryoz tried to chase the water instead. To Evan’s left, Jon gasped and stiffened, there was wildness in those dilated irises. “Pull him back! Now!” But when Jon commanded that, David was already halfway to his lunge for the swaying man.  
  


“What the fuck?” Tyler said, distracted from controlling his wind, “the ocean is fucking boiling.” And when Evan stared, it really was—bubbles rose to the even surface of the water, thick and gooey, and set in a dark magenta.  
  


“Tyler, turn around.” Evan did, too, as he heard Jon’s words, and his face darkened when he realized that the lava was almost twenty meters away from them. And just like the poisoned water, the molten fire was boiling too, but instead of the deep pink color, it was glowing with vibrant orange. Tyler had to stop using his wind for the ocean to prioritize lifting all of them up from the ground.  
  


Once everyone regained their balance and recuperated from the turn of events, they started inspecting each other.

Evan’s eyes traveled more on Jon’s exposed skin to search for more injuries—he had a limping leg and a shoulder that was way too tense. His breathing was quite strange, too, but aside from those, Jon seemed alright.  
  


Or…  
  


“We’ve sent him to your sister’s house. With Brock.”  
  


Jonathan slowly tilted his head down at Evan, and not one streak of emotion clung to his features. It might have appeared like Jon was looking at Evan, but his focus was somewhere else. The wrinkles on his forehead told him that Jon’s brain was whirring, the shoulders that started building a rigid stance a sign of rising anxiety.  
  


And Evan knew without debate that if Jon would ever reply, it would also be a question.  
  


“What’s my name?” He tried once more.  
  


“Evan.”  
  


“What’s your name?”  
  


Jon’s lips thinned in a line, and his gaze rushed off to somewhere else **.  
  
**

There. The gut feeling was right: Jon was losing his memory for using too much of himself for his ability.  
  


“It’s okay,” Rough fingers laced through Evan’s, warm and familiar, unexplainably reassuring. “I think it’s coming back again. I just have to rest.”  
  


Evan refused to turn to Jon with his worries almost protruding from his face, and he had to stop being all dingy, so he just stared ahead and nodded.  
  


He didn’t miss it when David flickered an eye at Tyler who was gambling on his life, too, as blood searched for ways to escape his body—from his eyes, nose, mouth ears, and random wounds. So Evan waited for the healer to finish his work on Kryoz, which was taking on a toll on David’s own body as bruises marked spots under his eyes, and volunteered to take care of the blonde man.  
  


Kryoz was still weak, and it was the best state for him to be in as of the moment because his job was practically done in this plan. David made the right decision to preserve his energy for fatal injuries for other people. The blonde himself wasn’t arguing about it and seemed to understand the crucial decision—he knew he would live.  
  


“Smit,” Kryoz murmured as he practically slumped over Evan for support. “I want to see Lucas.”  
  


Evan turned to Jon to ask where Lucas was, but the panic in his blue eyes gave Evan’s heart a scare. At first, he thought Jon was alarmed because he didn’t remember anyone named Lucas, but Jon stepped sideways with sagged shoulders and revealed a body floating in the air, bloody and bruised, but peaceful and still.  
  


Kryoz quirked up to the stiffness of Evan’s shoulders, and  _he saw_.  
  


“No,” he muttered in disbelief. “No! You assholes! Let me see him!” Kryoz scrambled in the air to get to his friend, his eyes wide and terrified. Evan hooked the blonde’s arm over his shoulder and helped him reached Lucas.  
  


Their feet settled on nothing but the feeling of solid ground that was real to the touch but not to the sight. The weight Evan was dragging across was getting heavier and heavier the nearer they were to the body. They didn’t have footsteps, but the thuds of their hearts were awful alternatives as they stared at Lucas.  
  


“Hey, Smit baby,” Kryoz grazed his fingers on the dead man’s cheek. “I’m here now. You can stop pretending.”

No one expected movement, but everyone was still silent.  
  


“Lucas,” Kryoz’s voice wavered. “This is John, do you hear? John, your bud. Your favorite person.”  
  


Kryoz was shrugging his jacket off, tears turning into streams down his cheeks. “It’s cold up here. Take this jacket.” He slid it on top of Lucas’s torso. “It’s my favorite. It’s the only thing I have that reminds me of my family. But it’s yours now. You’re my family. So don’t leave me,” Kryoz sobbed. “Don’t leave me. I have no one else. Without you, I have no one.”

“Kryoz,” Evan’s lungs hurt when he said his name—no matter how soft he made his tone be, it still felt like he was spitting fire because of how he was invading his mourning. He eyed Jon for help, but his head was turned to the side, refusing to watch the scene, though his clenched fists told that he was listening.  
  


“Marcel’s portal!” David cried out as he pointed to the sky, “Tyler, prepare to support them!”  
  


David was pointing to the spot above Evan—there was a black smudge swirling bigger, and the moment the portal gave an opening, Evan, Jon, Kryoz, and Lucas were immediately enclosed in a shield.  
  


“He’s coming!” Brock’s voice yelled. And Evan would have asked where Connor was or if he was safe in his family’s house. But a dull thud and a muffled groan made him stopped his train of thoughts.  
  


And then Tyler was screaming.  
  


“No!”  
  


Evan’s jaw unhinged at the sight. David had his hands hovering on the sharp jagged rock that went through his chest. Slowly, his head inched up and his eyes peered up at Tyler, blood gushing down his mouth. “I . . .sorry.” And then he fell on the floor of the wind.  
  


Tyler, who was caged in Brock’s sturdy shield, pounded on it, hoping he could get to David. His irises were in a bright shade of green but they were caught in a haze as tears welled. “Let me out of here! Let me out or I’ll kill everyone of you. EVERYONE!”  
  


Brock, who didn’t listen to Tyler’s order, flashed a palm and shielded David’s body before pressing it back on his face. “Oh no. I-I was too late. This is all my fault.” His voice was muffled and shaking.  
  


Marcel was too out of his consciousness to react, his arms exposed muscles and veins.  
  


“Fuck!” Jon paced inside his own shield with his hands laced on his nape. “His name was David. If I just…if I remained. . .fuck.”  
  


Kryoz was still brushing the pad of his thumb against Lucas’s face.  
  


Brian wasn’t around, Tyler was delirious with loss, Jon wasn’t remembering much. No one of the three was capable of anything.  
  


No one.

But Evan.  
  


Fire uprooted from within him—and it breathed. It was alive. His heart was bustling in a series of palpitating beats, as if it was announcing the arrival of something bigger than Evan. And that’s not entirely wrong because it was greater than what Evan had been and what he could ever be. All his life it slept. All his life he tucked it in between his lungs and lulled it to slumber.  
  


And he couldn’t do that anymore. Because its melody now harmonized with Evan's—and the song was violence.  
  


For the first time in his whole life, Evan was not holding back his emotions. He let himself be bestial.  
  


His knuckles met the invisible shield, the crack was both of the barrier and of his fists. His heartbeats were like huge debris falling one by one onto the concrete floor and it shook his whole being. When he thought they couldn’t get any louder, they became gunshots aimed right at his ear.

He lifted one hand to strike the shield once more, his arm so heavy that the weight was almost unbearable even for his own bones.  
  


Almost. In one punch, his arm poked through the shield, and the cracks were crawling over him and around the whole barrier. When the rifts met in a full circle, the shield shattered. Evan burst through and landed fell onto the invisible ground—he was so heavy that the wind trembled where Evan’s feet met it.  
  


When he lifted his face up, his eyes were blazing.  
  


There was an invisible line Ryan crossed long time ago, and all of them just kept redrawing a new line far away from him. And then they would only hope he wouldn’t come to them again. And that was what led them to this point.  
  


_We only deal with him when he’s here.  
  
_

Not this time.   
  
Not anymore.  
  
Evan would deal with him, and it would be the last time they would.  
  


“Drop me, Tyler.” There was authority in Evan’s voice, and when he heard himself, it was so foreign and unbelievably low yet loud. His posture, his eyes, the tilt of his chin oozed with power—not the kind given by some lightning but the kind that made him feel he was lightning himself.  
  


“Evan!” He turned and saw Jon’s piercing eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare do it.”  
  


Below Evan, there was a little space the lava hadn’t touched yet—a portion of land all jagged rocks and moss.  
  


“Tyler,” Evan seethed, ignoring Jon, as he looked at David’s limp body, his blood pooling there in the air. His eyes that had always seen goodness in people, that had always trained to all the positive things a situation could offer, that traced all the constellations of the galaxy, were now dull and glossed over.

David was one of the few who stood up for Evan. He remembered that he was the first to jump between Evan and Ryan’s group even though he and Marcel were outnumbered. It was during those times Evan wouldn’t even stand up for himself that David stood up for him. Remembering all of these was a stab in his own chest, making him choke to the phantom blood in his throat that he almost couldn’t speak.  
  


Because Evan couldn’t even save David.  
  


“Tyler.” He worked the words out of his scruff throat. The fire of his determination was spreading warmth across his body, forging his bones into steeled cudgels, ready to crush rocks and skulls. The man stared at Evan, bearing no bite they usually had, green orbs dancing in mourning, and Evan knew exactly the magic words: “I’ll avenge David.”  
  


Evan lost the feel of something firm against his feet—he didn’t panic to the gravity that made him fall faster nor to the earth that awaited him to splat on the ground. Someone screamed his name—but it was droned out by the steady rushing of air into his ears.  
  


When he hit the ground, he was a different version of an asteroid—smoke seeped from his mouth and the rocky land beneath him pulverized, cracked and broken into a concave dent. Dusts made of sand and ashes swirled and curled around him like a fabric caught in the wind. Evan’s vision was hazy because of that, but he knew where things were—hot flowing lava was to his right and the poisoned ocean was to his left. There was not a single surface for Ryan to take refuge to except to this six meter area spot he was in.  
  


And even though the smoke of dirt hadn’t fully faded, he knew Ryan was in front of him—he could hear rocks clanking, arranging. The first thing Evan spotted on Ryan’s face was the split that broadened into a grin, a mouth that eventually spoke.  
  


“That’s what happened when you guys try to fight me—”  
  


A three-fingered fist, wavy due to its fast and heavy momentum, swung through the air. Another fist, this time with five fingers. A seething mouth opening and screaming, “BITCH!”  
  


The rocks crumbled.  
  


Half of Ryan’s face was gone, rock hands reached to ruined side but Evan already had a kick swinging in. It hit the creature’s leg, and this time Ryan screeched because Evan dipped his foot in the ocean first. Ryan’s knee started melting; Evan’s shoes and the hem of his pant leg did too.  
  


Then there were sharp rocks, ones that looked like that one that impaled David, came at Evan so fast that it wasn’t possible for the eye to catch all of them. It hit where Evan’s heart was.

Evan smirked.

The rocks disintegrated right before their eyes, crumbling into nothing bigger than pebbles. Another one came at him but the same thing happened. Because there was an invisible shield that enclosed his body, not the transparent bubble he usually received. This time, it was tracing over his very outline, following every twitch and every movement of his limbs. Many more rocks darted but they just exploded the moment they reached Evan.

And Evan never blinked.   
  
He walked closer to Ryan. The latter stepped back in fear.   
  


A massive rock flew over his head, roots and dirt still clung to its lower side, and it was so vast that Evan was certain Brock’s shield would break open—Evan’s head would follow suit.  
  


Evan flicked his eyes to the rock above him, and returned it to Ryan, deadpanned. “Drop it.”  
  


Ryan did, and with a wave of his hand, the shadow started looming wider, blackening all the other colors of his body. It was so near above him that he could hear the humming sound it gave to the wind.   
  


Evan wasn’t fazed; he studied Ryan’s reaction, the two bulged formation that should be his eyes widened when the shadow immediately disappeared and light basked the Evan once more. Evan smelled coffee in the air, Marcel’s portal always did.  
  


“Is it worth it?” His voice low and slow, his eyes sharpening. Right in front of him was the person who killed Lucas and David, and Evan had nothing in his mind but the destruction of this entity, the end of this catastrophe. He was the root of everything after all.  
  


Evan’s skin was ripping because of the amount of density he was putting in his body, and he didn’t care. If this were the only way he could overpower Ryan, then he was willing to snap all his seams to give way to more strength.

“Is your revenge that important that you wouldn’t mind people getting killed?” After Evan’s fist collided with his chest, Ryan stumbled down and Evan hovered over him and spat. “God, how I wanted to feel your remains crushing into sand inside my palms. To feel your blood dribbling down my wrist as I crush your face. I wish I could kill you.”  
  


“Then do it!” Ryan screamed as he brought his damaged knee up to his chest. “Do it and get it over with!”  
  


“There is one person who deserves to do that. He lost twelve years of his life after all.”  
  


A hand clamped on the man’s remaining head, fingers splayed that revealed the rock eyes that seem to widen.  
  


A ruthless shadow that skulked from behind, two blue dots trailed along with the blue smoke that ardently danced along the dark silhouette.  
  


The fight was over.  
  


“Goodbye, Ryan,” Evan whispered with bored unfeeling eyes. Jon’s fingers dug into Ryan’s head until the rock exploded into a million pieces.  
  


Ryan was gone, but Jonathan started screaming, going on his knees as blue smoke undulating around him. The power in Evan’s face died along with Ryan, and now he was hurrying towards Jon.  
  


Who tried to hover his bloody hands on a seed. The seed Evan gave him.

“On three,” Jon hissed, “you call Tyler.”  
  


Evan nodded, but he was very confused as to what was Jonathan doing. Was he going to grow a tree out of Ryan’s life? Just like how he grew a tree earlier? Out of Luke’s life?  
  


Evan was positive about Jon’s ability, but it wasn’t the time to have him confirm.  
  


He started counting. “One.”  
  


The seed cracked one side of its shell.

“Two."   
  


Jon’s eyes rolled back and passed out. Evan’s lungs squeezed and stopped for a moment, panicking at the dangerously blanched skin of Jonathan—until he remembered to call Tyler.   
  


"Tyler, help! Please!”  
  


Just like that they were soaring back into the air, and the sound of splintering branches and woods echoed sharply across the mountains.  
  


When he looked down, a gigantic tree materialized, its leaves nothing green nor lush—it was the color of autumn and the smell of wither, its branches wrinkled and brittle. Its roots didn’t even get a firm grip of the ground, so the whole tree leaned to left and fell sideways.  
  


The tree was born dead.  
  


**Brian’s POV**

Bryce was skinless from the fingertips to his biceps, his life was evidently abating with the blanch gaining control of his coloring.

Brian was worse, his skin peeled at his chin as if he was merely wearing a mask and this whole muscular system was his real body.  
  


Despite being the opposite case, Brian was winning.  
  


It was a battle of reading the mind against tricking it. At first, it was too obvious who would win. Until Brian’s luck began stuttering. It looked like they weren’t the only ones who killed time improving their abilities, because Bryce had access not only to Brian’s running thoughts, he also knew which were the lies he kept on telling himself.  
  


The guy played with his mind and actually managed to fool him.  
  


What he didn’t know was that Brian could trick his own mind, too, thanks to traumatizing pelts from Marcel to remind him to practice. Whatever Bryce said to fuck with his already fucked up brain was completely blocked with his own fog. Brian shuddered in the immediate change of his scenery—from violent atmosphere of mountain soil blanketed by blood to a tranquil ambiance of waking up from sleep, bandaged hands settling a breakfast tray over his stomach.   
  
In ten quick counts, he was already calm and sane again.  
  


That was when he started winning. Well, he’s dying, too, but by the looks of it, Bryce would go first as the light in his eyes started to give way to the dullest shade of blue.  
  


“You’re going to kill yourself if you continue.” Bryce croaked as he was lying on his back, a hand thrown across his belly. Brian was still weaving demons in Bryce’s current nightmare and he didn’t plan to stop until he was dead.  
  


“If the last sight I’ll have is your corpse, then that’s the best way to go, to be honest.”  
  


Despite being on the ground, two fingers digging onto the right temple, a burgundy color coating from his shoulder down, Bryce still had the energy to shift his head sideways to garner a good vantage view of Brian. “Who would ever thought my first bully would be my last. You must be proud.”  
  


Brian’s bloody fingers hovered onto the chest pocket of his jacket, shaking uncontrollably, yet he still managed to snatch his cigarette and lighter. Pinching the stick between his forefinger and middle one was hard—but lighting it up was harder. Every twitch sent jolts of pain to his body and it was pissing him off to be so limited.  
  


_Don’t matter. Bryce will be dead in a few_.  
  


The flame of his cigarette crawled fast to the base when Brian took a long drag, his cheeks hollowing out in the process.  
  


He blew the smoke towards where his fog was—he smiled to himself. He could always tell which was his ability or which was poisoning his lungs even though they were just as dense and as white as each other. That was a useless talent, he realized, but Brian could use some ego boosting before he died.  
  


_Because he will die_.  _No question about that_.  
  


When his mouth was free of smoke, he side-eyed Bryce. “As much as I wanted to take credit of being your last bully, I can’t. I’m not bullying you now. I’m protecting my friends. You think I don’t know you’re the leader of your group?”  
  


“Oh?”  
  


“You can control Ryan. You know his emotions. You know his heart. And you feed him revengeful thoughts.”  
  


“Hmmm. As expected from a leader of bullies, you’re strategic.” Brian puffed out clouds and shrugged, while Bryce let his head fall back into the ground in exhaustion. Two boys who just wanted to be at peace. Two boys who had to kill to be just that. How fucked up. “I know things about you.” Bryce continued. “I know how much you want one of your friends. Want a special someone to come crashing into this field and hold you. Not even want—what’s the right term, oh—longing.” Bryce grinned at him, his teeth displaying different shades of red. “Because you don’t want to admit that you’ve fallen for a guy.”  
  


Brian’s mind raced with a picture of a man wearing a gradulent tank top who sport a mohawk that didn’t suit his personality. Of a laugh that would punctuate every punchline. Of a pair of brown eyes that always saw the halo above Brian’s head when he was holding a scythe. When Brian peered at his reflection on Brock’s eyes, it seemed like Brian was the kindest and the most compassionate person there was in Brock’s world.  
  


Brian shook his head and intensified Bryce nightmares. He added the image of his loved ones running towards him, screaming how the pain was too unbearable and for Bryce to help stop it, and their faces inching closer to the man as they tore their skin from eyelids to the borders of their mouths. And Bryce, in real life, screamed just as hard, his hands couldn’t decide if he would cover his ears or hold his chest for the pain that was only in the head.   
  


And Brian knew he died when his mouth bubbled, his eyes rolled back into his head.  
  


Another murder added to his resume.  
  
Wasn’t fazed anymore unlike his first time.  
  


He slid to the ground and winced when his raw hands and knees took traction for his weak body. Pain came to him, not as waves, but as a whole ocean itself. As his hand clutched his chest and his open mouth broadened for gasps to escape out of him, Brian was burning, engulfed with white fire that charred not only his bones but also his memories.  
  


Where was he?

What was his name?

Why did he have blood all over him?

Why was there another body nearby?  
  


He breathed and took note that there was a faint whisper in his chest that kept on fading—his heartbeats. Eyes closing, gut wrenching, he ransacked his brain for anything, any memory that he could claim his, that could make him certain that he was who he thought he was.  
  


“Brian!" 

There, someone called. That should be his name, right?

"Brian, please!" 

That was his name. He was Brian.

A memory took his attention.

_Brian dropped on to the ground from the teleporter that smelled like pine trees to him, sometimes clean lake water. He hadn’t an issue for Marcel for deciding who he should face because his friend was fucking right. So he accepted his fate, but not without asking for one last favor.  
  
_

_He asked Marcel to go and get Brock for him.  
  
_

_"But make sure he give Evan and Tyler and Jon what they need before coming to me. I can hold Bryce out."  
  
_

_Marcel stared at him, blinking once—twice—before marching with heavy yet urgent footsteps towards him. Worry and suspicion formed at his face. Marcel raised his fist, aiming to clout Brian at the cheek, but it stopped just a hair away from him. "I swear to God, Brian. If you do something stupid. . .”  
  
_

_“Yeah, I’m going to do something stupid. I’d probably die because you know how cunning that motherfucking mindreader is. But you know, since when did I have regrets in my decisions?”  
  
_

_To answer his own question, he grinned at Marcel. There was none. Brian would feel bad at first, maybe reassess things, but in the end, he wouldn’t give an ounce of regret. He always did things with his best intentions and judgment, and if at the time, he thought his decision was wise, then there was no other way he would want to make mistakes.  
  
_

_“Oh my God,” Marcel rubbed his face first before turning away to do exactly his request. “You and Jonathan are so much like each other. After all of this, I’m going to teleport you to the deepest pit of hell and make the two of you think about how to improve your decision-making skills, you fucking idiots. You’re fucking scaring me with the shenanigans you’re pulling off.”  
  
_

_Brian smiled to himself. Yes, of course. Jonathan and Brian were indeed alike. Along with Tyler, the three of them were the strongest barrier of their group—the people who would be willing to sacrifice more for the people they truly cared about. And in some lifetime, in some universe, Brian hoped they weren’t like these—they deserved peace of mind and a normal family. Like real family, not the one they chose to hang out with. Both Tyler and Jon were good people through those annoying facade they kept on trying to parade—they didn’t merit to be responsible for deaths just because they wanted to live.  
  
_

_On the other hand, Brian deserved all these. Hands down. No explanation.  
  
_

_Brian memorized Marcel’s back as he formed a portal in the air; his hands raised in fists, slowly unfurling. And at the same time, a black dot would mimic his hands and it would bloom—its edges would splay further and further until Marcel could fit inside. His curly hair was teased by the wind, and the moment he stepped inside, its dark color blended right in with the inside of the portal.  
  
_

_He must have felt Brian’s stare, because he whipped around and tried to step out again, but the portal was already too little for him to come through.  
  
_

_Brian grinned and waved at his friend. “I’ll never forget you in the afterlife.”  
  
_

_“You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, you mother bitch!”  
  
_

_And the portal covered Marcel’s worried face.  
  
_

_Mother bitch. That was the best farewell words Brian could ever wish for.  
  
_

“Brian, you promised! No, don’t leave me like this. You promised. You promised.”  
  


Another memory came to him.  
  


_There was a person by the pool, his legs dipped into the water, swaying underneath, too. The guy shifted his head back, eyes closed, and the air seemed to hum at the sight of the comfy person. His hair waved softly as if they were underwater too, and his lips were upturned—an evidence that he was enjoying the quiet that gave way for the rushing of the wind. He stayed like that for a long time, leaves rolling around him, water rippling as his legs walked on imaginary ground under water.  
  
_

_And Brian watched the scene by the jamb of the door, being contaminated by the solitude as his tensed shoulders loosened. It didn’t last long, though. His chest pounded, and at first he was confused what was that all about until he realized he wanted to be close to the man. To be shoulder to shoulder. To smell his scent. To feel warm—  
  
_

_No. Brian cut himself off. No. It’s better to be like this. Always near, never close.  
  
_

_Though he smiled at how serene his friend was, because they rarely got time to enjoy privacy and quiet since Jon appeared again. Brock deserved it—but he was pissed a little bit when the man’s eyes opened and caught him staring.  
  
_

_There was no surprise on his face, only sadness. Brian opened his mouth to speak, his posture straightening as he searched for words to say. “Brock–”  
  
_

_“I’m going to die, Brian.” Brock’s head righted itself and faced the forest.  
  
_

_And Brian gazed at what Brock might be staring at. It was what Brian was bothering about, too, because aside from David, no one seemed to understand that Brock wasn’t himself ever since he injured his hands.  
  
_

_“Don’t say that,” Brian’s words were soft as he put his guard down and walked to sit beside Brock.  
  
_

_The man gave him a small chuckle that lacked of humor, and stared at his bandaged hands. “Ever since that fight at the amusement park, I was never the same. My hands don’t heal. My pulse is barely there. David tried, but his power couldn’t heal me—he could only take away the pain. And then I started losing myself…I—” Brock laid his hands on his lap, limp. Legs stopped sending little waves on the surface of the pool. “I space out. At first it was just for minutes, that’s normal, right? Until the blank stares became too heavy. At night I thought I slept, but I didn’t. My eyes would burn all day and I would be tired that I’d have no choice but take rest. But when I take the rest, I space out again. And then recently, I started losing memories. I wake up not knowing where I am or why I was holding a cup of beer. It would take me minutes to regain them, but those minutes were so terrifying. And then just now,” Brock sheepishly peeked at Brian, “I didn’t recognize you at the door. I would have freaked out, but there’s something about you that…feels like home. And then you said my name and all my memories rushed back. It’s usually not that fast but I’m grateful.” Brock leaned into Brian and whispered, “So grateful.”  
  
_

_“You’re not going to die, Brock. I won’t let it.” Brian’s jaw clenched so hard because of how unfair it was. Brock was the kindest person he knew and he didn’t deserve all these pain and suffering. If anything, it was Brian who deserved it because of the horrible things he had done in his life. If he could just trade places…  
  
_

_“Ever so possessive and protective. I’m going to miss it.” Brock chuckled again, and this time it had a touch of his old self.  
  
_

_“Brock, listen to me.” Brian encased the man’s face in his hands, making Brock face him. “I know you’re scared. I am too. I don’t want you…gone. But if you truly think that you’ll die, call for me, scream my name. I will come to you and I will hold you until you’re not scared anymore. I promise. I promise I’ll be there even if it’s too hard for me to see you die.” He leaned in closer so their forehead touched, “It’s breaking my heart already. But I’ll still talk to David and maybe Kryoz if they could fix something.”  
  
_

_“Thank you, Brian. Just…thank you.”  
  
_

“Brian. Wake up please.”

He opened his eyes and saw Brock. His face was a waterfall of blood, but relief was bright and alive in his eyes.   
  
“Why did you do this to yourself?” Brock whispered and pressed his own forehead to Brian’s, their blood mixing together. “You don’t have to defeat anyone if you’re going to defeat yourself too."   
  


A hum gurgled Brian’s throat, and it filled his mouth with thick liquid. Brock gently pulled him up into his lap and wiped the blood that escaped his mouth.   
  


"I don’t remember anyone or anything, Brian. I don’t know where I am or who was the man who brought me here nor why he had portals. I was freaking out all the way here but when I saw you lying here, I remember our conversation in the pool. There we talked about heartbeats, unhealing hands, and you holding me while I die.” A tear escaped from his left eye creating a clean river of skin between plains of blood. “I’m still dying, but you might go first. C-Can I do it for you? Hold you while you crossed afterlife?”  
  


Brock. His name was Brock. And if he had a strong heart, Brian would hear it pounding. Some of his memories slipped in, forcing him to spit the blood out of his mouth so he could say what he wanted to say. “Can hold you still. I’ll try to live…longer. You…I, we cross together. ”  
  


Right there and the two laid on their side, Brock’s head pressed on Brian’s chest, their bloody arms wrapped around each other.  
  


They died. But they didn’t _die scared_.  
  


**Evan’s POV**

Evan tried not to succumb to the exhaustion as he was lifted higher into the air with Jon unconscious on his arms. The warmth the sleeping man was emitting was an indication that he wasn’t dead despite having a bloody face and almost non-existent heartbeats—but he didn’t feel normal either. His temperature bordered to being sickly cold. At least not  _dead_  cold. He’d been abusing his ability since this morning, so there was no surprise that it was taking a toll on his body.  
  


They needed to  _really_  rest, but Evan’s nerves still ran with adrenalin, not drinking in the fact that Ryan was dead—that this was  over.  
  


Tyler stopped raising them, and this was only the time Evan could really absorb what happened to the mountain. There was a dark cloud beside them, buffeting rain drops to the hot slope of the mount Viers. The lava stopped overflowing, but the surface was already ruined and hardened by the sudden exposure to liquid. There was a sizzling steam where lava met the ocean they poisoned, and a new rock formation was born. The trees—all dead—were reduced into little lumps of black that disturbed the smooth incline of the mountain. Stanlow, despite being basked in dim twilight, offered no light for them, so the only illumination around were random spots of the lava bringing them pulsating orange gleams.  
  


Brock and Marcel were out of sight; To his right was where Kryoz pumping Lucas’s chest and breathing into his mouth; To his left was Tyler resting his forehead to heavy lidded David. Evan would have joined Tyler’s side if it wasn’t for Jon who gasped awake, eyes opening to display terrified blue eyes.  
  


“Hey. Shhhh. Shhhh. It’s over, Jon.” Evan settled him on the invisible floor of Tyler’s wind, but his arms didn’t let go from their embrace around Jon’s shoulders.  
  


And then Jon grabbed Evan’s face and gently felt it. Thumbs ran over eyelids, fingers feeling his ears. “Your ears are cold,” Jon told him breathlessly. A smile was already arising on the man’s face, until it fell into a grimaced, drowned by dread and terror. “Fuck. No.”  
  


Evan furrowed his brows and followed Jon’s face as he scanned at his surroundings, inspected the people present and the mountain below him. “Jon?”

“Evan, there’s nothing left. No. Everything and everyone is dead.”  
  


“Who?”  
  


“I-I can’t feel any kinds of life in this mountain. The trees were killed, animals too. I can’t detect life but mine, yours, Kryoz’s, and Tyler’s. Little of David. Marcel…” That made Jon turn to the side to see Marcel stepping out of his own teleport, Brian and Brock dead on each of his arms.  
  


Marcel himself fell forward, eyes blank.  
  


That was the time when Evan held Jon at arm’s length, the former had his mouth opening and closing but not a coherent word made it out. The questions were overlapping in his mind and his tongue couldn’t keep up. But maybe his eyes told the mouth failed to say, because Jonathan was now firmly holding his gaze, the way his blue irises never quivered, a serious look locking on his face.  
  


“I can feel life near me. Because my ability is taking, removing life from one body and transferring it to another.”

Evan kind of guessed something close.The blue-eyed man had a look that blurred the line between sadness and helplessness. At first, Evan was confused as to why…until he realized the situation they were in.

Five dead. One ability to give life.

_It doesn’t get any more obvious._

“Jon,” Evan whispered. Jon just walked passed Evan to get to David, bumping his shoulder in the process.  
  
“You can get yourself useful by bringing other’s corpses where David is.” His tone was cold. Every word was a brick stocking layers to the already high walls. His tone drew a line that Evan didn’t want to cross.

And Evan knew why.

Jonathan would transfer his own life to revive their friends, would lose his own for others to live. And he was already making himself numb, because he knew he would die tonight.

Was it going to be selfish if Evan asked Jon to not do this?

Would Evan even have influence over Jon’s decisions?  
  
Using his wrists, Evan wiped his tears and limped towards the spot where Jon was trying to transfer his own life to David.  
  


“…still warm. He can live and still be himself. Don’t worry.” He reassured Tyler.  
  


Evan collapsed beside their circle and snatched the hand on Jon’s chest and slammed it to his with a loud thud that rattled his throat. There was a baffled expression on Jon’s face at first, and then it darkened. He tried to struggle away from him, but Evan was fast and angry as well. It was unfair of the world to do this to them, and it was unfair of Jon to make Evan feel real shitty just because he would die.

So Evan grabbed Jon’s neck and pushed his head down to his level and spoke to his ear, “If your going to kill yourself, then make it fucking efficient.” He hissed.  
  


When their faces slid away from each other, they shared a glare, honey against water, sands against snow.  
  


“I have a plan.” Evan eventually turned to Tyler, and attended to the main matter. “David needs to be fully revived. Jon will use your, mine, and Kryoz’s lives, because David has the most helpful ability to assist him. After David, whatever life remains in us will be given to those we still can revive. Jon, you’ll have to let us know if we’re on the edge of our lives. That’s where you stop and where David comes in. All you have to do is make sure we’re alive enough for David to keep us breathing.”  
  


Evan didn’t know how Jon’s power worked but when he further explained it, he wasn’t pretty far from the truth. “I can tell how alive a person is with their heartbeats. As long as they’re warm, there won’t be an issue about reviving them. Will make sure David’s good enough to help me, and for the rest, I’ll stop transferring life once I heartbeats from our friends’ chests. That way we can try to even out the life we can give.”  
  


Tyler wiped the tears and blood on his face with his sleeve, and it revealed the fire in his eyes he just lost moments ago.  _He’s coming back_. “Transfer mine first.”  
  


There was tension now between Jon and Evan, and Evan didn’t want to address that because he didn’t know how to. Didn’t know how to stop him from doing this when there were many lives currently relying on his ability. Didn’t know how to say I love you and watch his friends die at the same time. So he just jumped up and helped Kryoz carry their friends’ bodies around Jon, his eyes refusing to look at his pale man.  
  


“Jon, I still can give more.” Tyler croaked when Evan got back, his eyes didn’t even focus at Jonathan but at the space above his head, violet and blueish green blotches joined the red smudges on his temples. It was a fast process than Evan expected, and he couldn’t decide if he liked that or not. “Does he have heartbeats now?” Tyler continued.  
  


When Evan turned to Jon, he saw the latter clenching his jaw, his face forming shadows as dark as Tyler’s bruises. Jon was worse—he was skinned up to his wrists, one of his eyes was pure black, his chest twitching as he breathed. But despite all that, he didn’t lose the sting of his tongue. “You fucking difficult idiot. You can’t possibly give more, you fucker. Go lie down and rest. I’ll say when I hear heartbeats after Kryoz’s turn.”  
  


Kryoz was suddenly beside Evan, choking him by gathering his collar. “You make sure you’re going to get Lucas first or I’ll destroy all of you,  _brother.”_  Their glares didn’t back down, and even though Evan understood that Kryoz was only scared, it didn’t make him feel less enticed in giving a hard punch to his mouth. Evan was already dreading on how this day would end.  
  


A fight would most likely help him release all these anger, frustrations, worries, and debates within himself.  
  


“SIT DOWN, BASTARDS!”  
  


Then Kryoz was pulled down, falling flat on his stomach, his head almost hitting Tyler’s knee. “Dude, what the fu—”

“YOU DON’T GET TO BITCH ABOUT THIS. YOU’LL LIVE. I’M GOING TO DIE NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP.”  
  


There. It was out. Even if they could revive everyone, Jon would still have to cross the limit of his ability—he would die like how Brock and Brian did.

Jon didn’t bother keeping a straight, nonchalant face—transparent liquid joined the streaming blood the leaked from his eyes.

Evan marched and grabbed Jon’s hand for the second time around and peeled it away from Kryoz’s chest. “Stop this then.”

But Jon didn’t budge on his spot as if Evan held a phantom limb no one could feel but him. So he spoke again, “If you can’t see another way around this, then stop."  _For me._ He badly wanted to say.

But he couldn’t do that—it was Jon’s choice. A battle between desire and morals.  
  


Jon tensed up, his eyes pasted to the hole in David’s chest. Which was closing, flesh weaving together like fingers intertwining. The hand Evan held a moment ago slid from his grasp and returned to Kryoz’s chest. "Don’t breathe for one minute, or I’ll poke your eyes out.”  
  


The blonde man huffed, his cheeks rounded, his mouth zipped tight. Where sweat should glisten, it was a blue glow that surfaced on Jon’s skin. It bounced off of him gracefully, and then it extended in ribbons towards Kryoz. Their eyes followed where the smokey thread went through. It tickled the tips of his Kryoz’s hair, and it circled his head until the glow sat atop his head like an ice crown that complemented his blonde hair.  
  


“Now breathe.”  
  


Kryoz exhaled, then there was a shock that made him involuntarily flail his arms. The blue light zigzagged from Kryoz, to Jon, and onto David’s chest. The world surrendered its usual noise—the streams of Lucas’s rain quieted, Tyler’s wind toned down, the birds did not dare cross their paths, the remaining living people held a breath—to give way to David and his gasp. His eyes fluttered open, and Tyler was suddenly there, cradling David’s face with his weak hands.  
  


“Tyler,” David whispered.  
  


“That’s me. Your idiot boyfriend.” Tyler smirked, but tears streamed from his eyes.  
  


Tyler filled him in on what his role on this, and the whole time David listened, his eyes didn’t leave Jon, the longer he watched, the softer his face became. Evan knew right there that David understood what Jon was trying to do. And by the time the healer was fully functioning, Kryoz was as pale as his hair and he was staring at some spot in the sky. He was alive, but he wasn’t himself, so Evan made it his duty to lay the man on his back before David started his work on Tyler.   
  


Jon, on the other hand, had hands set in pink and red. His muscles were pulsing for being unprotected from fingertips to wrists, blood squirting somewhere from his forearm when he stood up. With his lanky figure swaying a little bit, he lumbered to where Lucas’s body was settled.  
  


Evan tilted his head up to inhale deeply—the grave situation catching up to his emotions. If he could wind back the time, Evan would torture the life out of Ryan before letting him die. It was an immoral thought, and futile, too—Evan just hated being a witness to suffering of the people important to him and be unable to do something about it. His friends were dead, and that one person he had grew to love, that one person who showed him how to love himself was going to die too and no one would be able to revive him.  
  


And that was why he hated seeing him right now—being with Jon in this very situation is a constant reminder that they weren’t going to go home together tonight, that Evan would have to fill his bed with pillows again, that he was going to spend most of his time looking at vacant spaces in hopes of an apparition of blue eyes and strong jawline and long legs.  
  


With anger building up at his throat, Evan pulled at his hair and screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice rolling across the city below like how a thunder would. It scared the birds at the plains and took flight further from them; it made his friends look away from him.  
  


He saw Jon flinched, and he too evaded his gaze. If Evan didn’t see water dropped from his chin, glistening like crystals, then he wouldn’t know Jon was crying.  
  


And that was Evan realized that he was being selfish. Yes, he was angry, but how about Jon? He would have no one, too, and not in the sense that his bed wouldn’t be undone on the other side nor his home would feel like a maze without a map. No. Jon wouldn’t even have himself nor his mind to think of Evan and the happy moments they spent together.  
  


Jon would be gone in a matter of minutes.   
  


It started to dawn on Evan.  
  


Evan made a move, stumbled in the air, his breathing becoming heavy the more he neared Jon. And Jon—he was waiting for Evan to reach him, all wet lashes and wobbling lips, all blood and muscle then skin and sweat. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Jon’s because he could already feel how he would miss him—his body sprawled next to his own on the moose-printed sheets, his scolding whenever Evan said something he didn’t like, his blue eyes that ruined the image of ocean for him, his serenity so strong it was almost tangible.  
  


When they pulled apart, their eyes held each other the way their bodies would during nights of nightmares.  
  


“Are you ready?” Jon asked.  
  


And Evan realized it was his turn to give life. His brown eyes held blue ones. “I am. Are  _you_  ready?”  
  


Jon only smiled, but Evan couldn’t call it one. There was slight curved of his lips, revealing a little bit of his top teeth. But there was no dent on his cheeks where his dimples should be nor the lines that crumpled the patches of freckles near his eyes. And Evan knew Jon wasn’t ready, probably never would be, but he had no choice.  
  


So Evan had to look strong, had to be the personification of strength in this situation, because Jon didn’t deserve to go through this alone. If he was going to die, then Evan had to make it easy for him. So he took his lover’s hand and pressed it to his chest and put a fire in his eyes so when he spoke, he would also convince himself.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m ready. You’re ready.”  
  


Then the warmth of his blue glow enveloped him, his skin prickling as his heartbeats went scarce. Slower slower slower. His lids getting heavier. There was something he was losing, the strength of his spine as he sat there, the number of times he blinked, the amount of air he breathed.  
  


He was being hollowed out. Did Evan want to? Did Evan want to lose his feelings right now?  
  


“I got you.” David was suddenly there but in no good shape anymore. A different kind of warmth gave his sight a green border and he pushed his hands away.  
  


“Not me. Jon.”  
  


“He said he didn’t want it. Said he will still end up all the same.”  
  


Evan’s eyes rolled back into his skull because of the ache in his heart. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t stay strong while he faced a future where there was no Jonathan.  
  


His back met something solid and he found himself staring at the sky—he was laid down. It meant his turn was done and David should be healing Lucas, enough that he would live. It meant Jon was dead or was onto someone.

Evan’s gaze didn’t leave the sky that was clearing because of Lucas’s withdraw of his ability, but his eyes watered. He was scared to call for Jon and receive no reply, to lift his hands and found no one holding them. But he had to do it. He had to know. So with a stuttering breath, he opened his mouth and spoke with a hesitant tone. “Jon?”  
  


The blue sky changed into something bluer and clearer. Jon’s good eye was still beautiful and Evan couldn’t help but sob to see that face again. “I thought you already left me. I was so scared.”  
  


There was a sad smile on Jon’s face. Evan propped his elbow so he could sit, Jon settling an arm on his back to support him. Once he was comfortable, he put his lips on Jon’s cold mouth.  
  


Jon moaned, but he pulled back. “Evan, don’t do this.”  
  


Evan didn’t listen—he was busy wiping the blood away from Jo’s skin, to touch the solid decision on his face and mold it into something Evan’s heart could accept, to leave his fingerprints on his skin and let everyone know Jon was his. And he was Jon’s.  
  


“There. I can see you again.” Evan croaked when the man’s face was free of grime and blood, except for his jet black eyes. But that was not where his attention lingered—it was at the softening of Jon’s face.  
  


Not because of surrender or resignation.  
  


Jon was calm as he accepted his fate. It was the face of goodbye.  
  


“Please,” Evan gathered Jon’s shirt in his fists, his nose pressed against his throat as he breathed him in. “I can’t pretend anymore, too. I can’t pretend that I can be strong as I watch you go. I will never be that strong, Jon.” He whispered. And he didn’t care if anyone heard him—if anyone deemed him selfish.  
  


Evan just wanted to keep that one thing that made him happy _. Is that too much_?  
  


Warm arms caged his shaking shoulders, and Evan received a false assurance as he was pressed closer to Jon’s body. No matter how much the embrace tightened around him, how much deeper Evan would sink his face on the crook of Jon’s neck, how much warmth his arms emitted, there was no concealing the sound of their lives crumbling around them.  
  


They wouldn’t strengthen his limbs to endure what was to come later.  
  


“Evan…” That disapproving tone rattled his collarbone. Evan shook his head.  
  


“No.” He gently pushed the man away from him. “No, Jon. You always say I have to be selfish sometimes. That if I like something so much, then I should do everything to get it and not ask for everybody’s permission. This is it, Jon. I’m using my selfishness and telling you to not do this. Please. Aside from my grandmother, you’re the only person who became so important to me.” Evan cupped his mouth with his hands as he cried. “You fit in my life so easily that I can’t understand. You make me feel alive with the way you look at me over the brim of your coffee cup when our bodies aren’t enough to battle the coldness of the weather and with the way you curl your toes when I kiss your shoulder in the morning. The way you walk so lazily but with such sexy grace. It turns me on so much that I had to look away from you. And to make me suffer more, you always decide to walk ahead with those long legs of yours. Every damn time. I like your eyes that can never lie to me. Your tongue. Your fucking mouth that mutters my name against the inside of my very own cheeks that one night we skipped practice to just drink. Your touch that’s so gentle it makes me feel that I am something valuable. That I’m something you couldn’t afford to hurt. That I’m so much more.”  
  


Evan studied his face, it was still not breaking, still speechless and sad. Still blanketed with melancholic serenity despite Evan being in the brink of insanity with the words he just spat out.  
  


So Evan cleared his throat and declared his last card, staring up to that blue eye. “I love you, Jon. Please don’t do this. For me.”  
  


He waited.

A second.

Two.

Five.

Then he saw a crack on Jon’s face—his eye wavered. And then it was the start of the breakdown. Jon’s palms flew to his face, rubbing across his features, rubbing away all of Evan’s fingerprints from earlier. “Oh, Evan.” His voice was muffled.  
  


“Do you love me?”  
  


“Come here.” Jon was onto his lips, wild and mischievous. Mesmerizing. Enchanting. Addicting. He said 'I love you’ without saying a thing. And Evan didn’t know what to do with his hands but to gather Jon’s shirt in his fists and catch his breath so this kiss could last longer. But it didn’t. Jon broke away and pressed their foreheads against each other. “Do you know why I’m so scared about you knowing what my ability is?”  
  


Evan shook his head—he didn’t know even now.  
  


“It’s better if I send you my memory. Would that be okay?”  
  


He just gripped Jon’s shirt tighter as a response. If Jon did that, he would still using his power. He would still hasten his death.  
  


“Look at me.”  
  


Evan refused.  
  


“This may be the last time you’ll look at me, y'know.”  
  


Evan turned with a sob. “Don’t be so casual about this.”  
  


Jon sported a smile so genuine and so contented that Evan was sure he was still determined to revive one last person.

It only proved that Jon was a good person under the sadness and sass, and it made him all the more deserving to live.

That caused Evan to hurt more that he was going to lose him.  
  


That and Jon’s next words: “Ev, I chose people over you today. And I’m sorry. I know you know why. I still have a chance to live after years, they don’t. But know that I love you. And no tombstone can pin me underneath the earth for far too long, and no grave can stop me from going back to you. Evan, I’d choose to die over and over again if it meant I’ll get to experience that one month we’re together.”  
  


Evan loved the sunrise. He loved the sunset, too. As well as running, coffees, hanging plants, mangoes, and beer. He loved his lawn, even the wild grasses. Cats. Trees. And the reflection of the sky on Brock’s pool. The neon green stain on his kitchen counter that glittered in the morning. Basically, he loved many things. And all these things could materialize in front of him right now, but no one could ever make him tear his gaze away from his blue-eyed man.  
  
“Close your eyes. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

So Evan just let himself to be carried to sleep as Jon’s memory became his own.  
  


_He woke up with his clothes singeing at the sleeves and at the hems, frowning because it was his favorite hoodie. It was so blue that when he hooked it at one of the branches up in his mango tree, it looked like he had a piece of the sky with them.  
  
_

_From where he was, a flickering orange glow to his left from caught his attention, and his eyes widened when he realized what it was.  
  
_

_It was his tree. It was burning.  
  
_

_“NO!” He ran towards it, his small legs a blur underneath him. “Stop.” He stared at the huge black coal that was once a trunk he always climbed on and at the orange flames that toasted the leaves into something as dark as shadows. Tears bordered Jon’s lids. This was his father’s tree. Before he died, he told Jon that this tree would be his. It was passed down to generations of their family, so Jon had to take care of it.  
  
_

_“The tree always welcomes love. It can feel us. So take good care of it, and it will be your friend.”  
  
_

_So Jon hugged the base of the tree and cried there. It was still hot to the touch, which he didn’t care about. He wanted to hug it even tightter but it was now brittle and would be more destroyed if he did so. Ashes fell on his head as if someone was smoking a cigar right above him—some bits still had embers but some was just gray dusts.  
  
_

_Dusts. His tree was turning into dusts. “I’m so sorry, Papa. I didn’t protect the tree like you asked me too. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”  
  
_

_He closed his eyes when tears leaked some more, but he noticed his legs were giving up on his weight the longer he hugged the tree. Something warm gushed out of his nose, but he hadn’t paid attention to it.  
  
_

_Because he felt the cooling of the wood beneath his touch and when he opened his eyes, the tree was a tree again—sturdy bark, vibrant green leaves, hard roots.  
  
_

_He was just about to jump in joy when he heard_   _groaning from a person, and Jon gazed back at the playground where he came from. There were people—his friends and Ryan's—sprawled on the ground. The line of the hopscotch, the chalk drawings, the scratches on the pavement were all tucked underneath a blanket of blood. Jon marched closer and his stomach lurched when he saw his friends twitching a finger, an eyelid, a lip. He swirled left and right to see if there was any adult around, but no one came out of their house to inspect what happened.  
  
_

_Last thing Jon remembered, there was a lightning. It was so loud that people should be awaken and called for hospital, fire stations, policemen, anyone. Yet there was no stirring in the neighborhood, the city unbelievably eerie and quiet.  
  
_

_That was strange enough for Jon, until when he checked his Batman wrist watch—the long hand was on the twelve, the short hand was in between eleven and twelve, and the hand that should be visibly ticking was not moving at all. He checked Brian’s and his, too, stopped working.  
  
_

_Jon sat there, in the middle of his friends’s bodies. He didn’t know what to do—especially when the time wasn’t passing. He tried to busy himself, though—he tied his friend’s shoelaces and flicked hair out of their faces._

_Then he observed his friends’ body and became wary of how their chest pumped. He circled around everyone and monitored their motions. For a long time, his friends had been okay—they breathed, their hearts beat. Until on his seventh rotation, Evan’s chest stopped moving._

_Jon ran to the boy’s side and dropped right beside his chest and pumped it. Because that was what people do to unconscious dying people, right? “Evan, no. No. Don’t die. I don’t know what to do.” And Jon truly didn’t know what to do—he_ _was relying on the cartoon shows he memorized by heart.  
  
_

_But he knew someone big and adult should be doing this.  
  
_

_A drop rolled from along the bridge of Jon’s nose, and at first, he thought it was tears. But it dropped red on Evan’s white t-shirt, a bud that spreads more and more as a couple of blood drops again.  
  
_

_Jon was crying blood, and that fact made his eyes leaked real tears._ _Will they pour disinfected in his eyes?_

_Oh no. That would hurt.  
  
_

_Evan was still unresponsive, even though Jon was already panting as he slammed his fists on his chest one too many times. That was when Jon took notice of his arms, skinned and very red. It wasn’t painful, but it was scary because he could see his muscles and veins. It was so gory.  
  
_

_Nausea hit him, not sure if because of the horrible sight or just because he was tired. So he rested right there, on Evan’s unmoving chest.  
  
All his life he wanted to be alone, and now that he was, it wasn’t fun. He now wished to go back to his mother and sister and brothers. He wanted to steal cookies above the fridge in the middle of the night again. He wanted to cuddle up with his teddy bears even their furs set his allergies.  
  
_

_Evan was dead, still warm but he had no heartbeats_.  _And Jon had a part of himself that died too.  
  
_

_“I’m sorry,” He wiped his eyes from blood and tears. “If I only know what to do, then I could have saved you, Evan. How am I going to pass by your house without feeling sad? Do you have a dog? Your dog will be sad, too.” And Jon cried there for a few more moments, until eventually, he suddenly didn’t know what he was sorry for. Until he became drowsy. Until he was so tired he couldn’t move.  
  
_

_“Are you okay?” A little voice croaked and when he opened his eyes, he found himself face to face with a kid. He didn’t know who the kid was, but Jon’s head was strangely rested on his chest_.  
  


_“No.” Jon muttered as he cried. Why was he crying? Jon knew he was sad, but because of what? He didn’t remember. The kid patted Jon’s head and hugged him tight.  
  
_

_“I always feel better when my mama hugs me. Do you feel better now?”  
  
_

_And as Jon closed his eyes, he nodded. The last thing he felt was arms tightening around his body_. _And the strong sense of safety that came with it_.  
  


“No.” Evan shook his head and opened his eyes, his mouth dry, his throat tight. Why in the world he didn’t have a memory of that? It was a vital part of his life.  
  


God.  
  


Jon revived Evan that night. It should be Evan who’s dead right now. He shouldn’t have experienced life and its beauty. He shouldn’t have experienced Jon’s love.  
  


Evan was still lying down, but now he was on the ground, on the rocky part of the plains. To his right was David, fixing Marcel who was miraculously breathing. To his left was Brock and Brian, untouched. On his chest, just like in the memory, was Jonathan half-lidded but smiling, his jet black hair pooling like ink beneath his pretty head.  
  


“You and Connor have connections because of that. It’s the reason I can send you images. Probably why you and the kid could see me in my ghostly state.”  
  
“But why didn’t you want to tell me this?”   
  
“I didn’t want to tell you,” Jon closed his eyes and tears and blood flowed. “Because I knew you like me at least, but there is a chance that you only do because we’re connected. You have a portion of my life. And I didn’t want for you to realize that yet, that you don’t like me—”  
  


“You’re an idiot.” Evan cut him off, a sob punctuating him. “Why did I fall in love with a stupid thing? If the only reason I’m attracted to you is because of your life running in my veins, then why am I not kissing the tree? Why don’t I want to hold it every morning?” Evan reached and patted Jon’s hair, just like that night he revived Evan. “But I’m sorry. You have to witness me wasting the life you gave. You had to be there when I tried to end it. Jon, had I known I wouldn’t have—”  
  


There was confusion in Jon’s eye, and Evan knew right there that he lost his memory.  
  


“I-I don’t know who you are,” Jon mumbled as his eyes started shutting, “But can I stay here and rest for a while? I feel so tired.”  
  


When Jon closed his eyes, he died as well.


	10. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a journey. Thank you for sticking with me. This epilogue. . .is not the best. But I barely have time to work on it anymore, so I decided to post it like this. This is dedicated to Munchingpotatoe012, Alfa-Angel, Hubcat99, Expired-Elixir, Captcoon, Ghosstkid, and Melly. All of them are on Tumblr except Melly, so follow them or thank them for me. They all are my anchors. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Marcel's POV

He stood there, edges bursting and breaking open because of a strong force that wanted to come out of him. That was funny. He was a hollow body, a host to nothing but rotting and suppressed emotions pushed into a corner. So why did he feel like splitting open?

He stood there, lungs still giving what his body required, his heart--although whispering pulses--still louder than Brock and Brian would ever be. His loafers were planted deep into the muddy ground, shoes that did nothing to give him a little traction to the world, because Marcel was falling into a dark space with no walls to cling onto nor a ground to kill him with.

He stood there by two rectangular holes on the earth which contained one white coffin each at the very bottom. Dead grasses and tiny veins of roots peeked out of the walls of the holes, as if they attempted to figure out on how the fuck wooden boxes could keep an angry Irishman who would fuck the world up before the world fucked his friends up and a soft, funny bookworm who would break the silence with awful puns just to make people happy.

_It's the perfect time. Everyone is sad. Make us happy, Brock._

Marcel looked down, looked up, looked around, but tears didn't well. They didn't glisten his eyes, as if they were aware that Marcel didn't deserve to mourn, didn't deserve to cry. He practically killed Brock and Brian—it was him who delivered them to the very things that would kill them.

Why would he be given a chance to pour out his guilt?

"Marcel," someone called. He turned around, awfully slow, making sure none of his movement would rustle his clothes nor throw pebbles into his friends' graves—he wanted to hear no clattering of rocks against wood nor his own body breathing. He wouldn't disturb the two anymore.

"Marcel."

He didn't want to spend an ounce of breath near these graves. It would feel like a slap to his friends that he, Marcel, who murdered them, was still alive. And he wished the weather was angry about that, or at least sad. But his luck ran out, the sun and the sky had their colors meeting in a seamless blend, so the orange and the light blue was making the whole funeral delightful. The temperature was pretty warm too. Sweat rolled down his temples, and he let them—he pretended they were tears.

"Marcel, they'll start burying them. Get out of there."

It should be him. It should be him who was boxed in there. With what he had done, he didn't even merit the chance to look down on their coffins like this. Their blood was in his hands, tattooing the shape of his sin not only on his skin but also all-over his skeleton and soul. 

Marcel would be forever painted in crimson.

He had to run away from here right fucking now. Before Brian and Brock--wherever they might be--would become even more disgusted with Marcel's presence in this funeral.

But as his foot lifted from the ground to take a step forward, he stopped himself. Even if he ran, it would be the same earth underneath him that would swallow his friends. It would be the same feet of a murderer that would pound on the ground.

Where should he go? Where would he go? He didn't have any other home. There was nothing really. . .could he teleport himself on and on so he wouldn't need to have his feet meet the earth for a long time?

"Marcel?"

He looked up at Tyler, who had an arm barricaded in front of David. And David. . .he looked pale as tears flowed from his sad eyes, dilating and widening as he stared at Marcel. Marcel took a step back. Did he know? That Marcel did all these? That they were mourning for their friends because of him? Did others know too?

"Everyone leave. Right. Now."

Heads turned to gaze at Evan, surprised at the strong intonation brought by authoritative words. The man had a stance ready for war as he carefully inched towards the graves, wearing a black shirt that only highlighted the fiery panic in his eyes.

They held each other's gaze.

"Everyone leave," Evan repeated but gentler, "Except Marcel."

Evan knew. No. Evan knew. Marcel had to go—

"Marcel, please don't leave. Please."

What?

"Please, stay with me. Let's sit here, by the fences."

Marcel . . .did not leave; he stayed standing there with lungs so big that his ribs were ready to snap. He couldn't breathe, something lodged in his throat like a huge shard of glass. But when he touched his neck, it was intact and pulsing. Then Evan was suddenly there, grabbing his wrist and gently guiding him away from Brian and Brock, away from his own victims. 

But the farther they were, the more he panted for breath, the more he panicked, the more his heart desired to stop beating.

"Evan, stop. Please. I-I can't. . .I can't be far away from them. I have. . .I need to be there!" Despite feeling like he was spitting on their graves by staying, something in Marcel still needed to pull up his version of himself that was friends with them—and not this one who killed them—to see them be settled.

He twisted his wrist from Evan's grasp, trying to flee, but the man wasn't budging his hold.

"Marcel, their deaths are not your fault." Evan let Marcel's hand go, but only so he could grip both of Marcel's shoulders to make him be still.  "They knew what was coming. They did what they thought they had to do. Just like what we all did that day. Don't forget that you died, too. David and Lucas did as well. And if it weren't for Jon, the situation would have stayed that way. Brock and Brian. . .they were just too far gone and Jon. . .was gone by then, too."

It wasn't out of Marcel's knowledge that Jon's life was transferred to him, and Evan had explained that he had to keep his eyes peeled for their friend because he had now the ability to see Jonathan's ghost form. 

Jon was another knife in his heart, too. The guy served most of his life being  _unseen_ and alone, and after one month of being alive, he had to experience it all over again. He shouldn't have felt obligated to revive Marcel. . .Brian and Brock should be the ones standing by Jon's coffin, throwing flowers and mourning. They sacrificed more. 

"Marcel, are you listening to me? You're still shaking."

"I-"

"Marcel, I know survivor's guilt when I see it. I experienced it all and I know you're having one right now. And you need to know that you matter. You matter to us who're still alive. And you most especially mattered to those who died so you could live. They loved you."

"But Evan," Marcel shook his head, his gaze seeing blurs as his tears began pooling on his lids. "I don't. . .what do I do? How will I live when I see them everywhere? I see Brian in the ashtrays on the tables, I see Brock in the books he left open. I see Jon whenever I see you. And it just hit me every time that these people. . .I will see them but they won't be there. I can't make them come back. . ."

Halting in the middle of his sentence, Marcel let the tears fall, warm salty drops that cooled the wet tracks. He expected waterfalls, but what he had were drizzles. Every single tear slowly dampened his cheeks, every trail making itself known, dropping one by one like an organized march. Marcel was a train, a derailed one with no directions now, just waiting for the end of the road, a cliff or just a huge ocean to drown in. There was no way he could find his path again. There was no way. No way.

When he sniffed, a smell of burning dragged him back to his senses. A cigarette popped in his vision. Lit, too. And Evan had one in his mouth, its orange flame pulsing as he took a drag.

Smoke turned their surroundings washed out in color, and when it dissipated, Evan shook the cigarette he was holding to Marcel's face. "Let's pretend that all these smoke is Brian's ability. Let's pretend that they're still here. Once we did that, let's try to think about how we're going to live if they were here. Then let's live like that for the rest of our days."

A sob escaped from Marcel's mouth and grabbed the cigarette from Evan's hand. He huffed and huffed and huffed until his lungs were brimming with smoke instead of clean air. And then he puffed everything in one go. 

A scream came out after.

And as he opened his mouth wide, releasing emotions in the form of a bellow, his chest started loosening. All the rust that clung to his body melted and came away with blood that wasn't his. 

He took a second stick. He found what Brian loved about puffing cigarettes.

He took a third. He was a brand new person.

He and Evan used all the sticks in the pack that day. By the time the burial ended and the smoke seemed to make a huge fog over the place, they figured out how they wanted to live.

Afloat.

Anthony's POV:

He burned the house. There was no wall the gasoline did not drench. Where it soaked, fire licked. Where fire licked, it cackled too.

And with every laughter of the destruction, with every opening on the polished, chandeliered ceiling, with every violent snapping of the floorboards, something in Anthony deteriorated, too.

This was Bryce's home, their headquarters. This was where they found that there was a bond stronger than blood. This was where they chose to fight it out wherever they declared war to each other, where they fixed things too when they realized they were idiots for having these brawls in the first place.

A refuge.

A place where they nursed their wounds.

A portal to safety.

This house was not just home to them—it was their personal heaven.

So there was strong odds that after the burning, after charcoal marked its territory, after this house stopped being a house, Anthony's soul would still live here. This was still the last place he was himself: bubbly, worry-free, adored.

Anthony let the fire do the destroying of this mansion starting from its brickwork and deep into its piping. He let real flames, sparked by a match, melt the walls, refusing to use his ability. Anthony never put his power to work anyway—he had always felt dizzy at the fact there was nothing he could cause but pain and ruination. Why did he have to be given fire that would shoot out from his palms and feet? Why couldn't he talk to animals? That would be better.

His friends never let him use his ability, too—they knew how Anthony felt when he did. So after the time he realized he was capable to create fire, he didn't use it again. It had been a decade again before his sweat served as napalm, before his hands and feet recoiled again—and that was to boost himself faster than a run to reach Jonathan first.

Before that, he forgot he was extraordinary. His friends never mentioned it even during late night drunk conversations, never sought help from him to use his ability for anything.

Even Ryan when he came back to life.

So despite of how valid his complaints were about his power, he still found guilt in the roots of his heart. He wished he used it to help his friends, or just to burn this house at least. His friends deserved to see his ability being the start of their peace and closure.

His friends. . .they were not bad people. They each had a golden heart with desires that were pure and innocent, but they chose to achieve them in the easiest ways—the wrong ways. And Anthony understood the consequence of their actions.

_The end doesn't justify the means._

After collecting Luke's remains, they had witnessed for the first time how Jonathan's ability reduced a person into something unrecognizable. It was gory. Luke's body had ended up as something thin and light. Gone was the vigor in his skin. Gone was the health in those eyes that always wrinkled at the corners. Nothing in his dead body had told a story that he was loyal, funny, would—and could—protect people that mattered to him.

After bringing Luke back to their house, Bryce and Ryan had asked Anthony to stay out of the fight. At first it was normal commands:  _guard the mansion, don’t let anyone in, the weaponry is open in case you need to defend yourself._  And then he found vague hints on the next ones:  _the money is on the safe, the food in the basement is good for you for a month_.

They said they didn't want Anthony to be hurt, but he could sense the finality in their voices.

They were expecting the worst.

So here he was, outside the mansion and its unbecoming. He was so close to the front door that he could knock it down if he wanted to, retrieve a few memories back, try to stop fire from spreading.

But he didn't do any of those.

The heat was an intense force pressing onto him, squeezing sweat out of his glands. The light of the flames bounced off on his skin with a moving orange gleam, dancing a ritual on his face and body. There was a snake of fire that ran up the edge of the attic roof, but when it reached the apex, it stayed there. Then there it melted, and after a few ticks, it began dropping tears of flames.

"Where did you place them?"  
  
Anthony shoved his hands into his front pockets, and he wished that he had worn skinny jeans today so that his pockets didn't have so much space to accommodate the shaking of his hands. He didn't want to think that Bryce and Luke's bodies were there, their limbs falling off along with the pillars of the rooms, their skin peeling and curling like autumn leaves.

He cleared his throat and answered Lucas. "Luke is in a room full of teddy bears. I remember him saying that he often dreamed a life that he was best friends with someone who loved teddy bears. He said it was so vivid and calming. I joked that maybe it was his past life and he answered me with an 'I fucking wish, man'. So maybe if I buried him in a sea of teddy bears, he'd get to experience that life again.

"As for Bryce, he was in the library. I made him his favorite cranberry tea and I opened the TV and let Discovery channel running because he loved to be surrounded by things that can make him smart and I even locked the door because he used to do that when we always just barged in when he's in the mood to soak up all the information he could in that room—"

His own hand crawled up to his own throat as he heaved for air. He just said that so fast, almost in one breath.  
  
"Hey, man. It's okay." Kryoz assured. "The two of us loved our idiots at some point. You loved them all the way. I know this is harder for you. But this is the best funeral we could ever give 'em."

"I agree." Palms squeezed Anthony's shoulders and twisted him, so now they could see the crumpled face he was sporting, his way of fighting back tears. "It's okay, man."

He felt his eyes narrowed on Lucas who was wearing his favorite heterochromic sunglasses. He was still grieving, so he didn't know how he would react to the fact that Lucas helped scheme Ryan's downfall. But he understood where the younger man was coming from, so Anthony didn't know how he would deal with this yet.

It was just. . .the topic shoved him to the edge. What Lucas did was still pure treachery for him.

For now, he had to leave. Let these two extinguish fire when it needed to be.

He picked up his tool box on the middle of the lawn, the soles of his feet scuffing against the grass that stood taller than what Luke usually wanted, aware that the two's eyes trailed him. "I'll be back tonight."  
  


Anthony had no idea if sawing a dead tree would take him a day or just a couple of hours—he didn't care. He would pluck the tree if he had to and he would drag it to where he would decide to live.

And Anthony would decorate it, and it would be fucking Christmas all year round for him.  
  
  


Evan’s POV

"Have you seen him yet?"

The sky on the other side of the tinted car window was gloomy, yet the people they passed by were sheltered by umbrellas as if it was the sunniest of days. Maybe it was. This car window must have been deceiving Evan into thinking that the weather tried to match his mood.

He blinked when it rolled down and squeaked a little bit.

"You'd like that." Marcel muttered behind the wheel, meeting Evan's hollow eyes on the rearview mirror.

It was true—he liked that. The real colors of things. The real sharp sounds of horns, screeching of tires, and people chattering. The strong scent of burning rubber mixed with the intense summer air. He wanted to memorize everything—EVERYTHING—that was real and normal and be certain about the existence of things in reality.

So when he saw something otherworldly, it would question him. And everything that questioned him could be a sign of Jonathan.

He liked the warmth of the sun, too. Because Evan was cold. He shivered all the time, even during summers where the sky was clear and looked a shade darker than Jon's eyes. His teeth would chatter when he dipped his toe into the pool, rippling the blue water in a way Jon's eyes would when he was crowded with emotions.

Evan came to hate his memories, too, but it was just because he was starting to forget little things.

How Jon walked.

How Jon laughed.

How Jon got angry.

It had been four years, and he knew he was supposed to wait for twelve, but it got so tiring to hope.  _How do you cry if you don't choose to mourn?_

Nothing else could draw an emotion from him anymore, too, not the guys, not Connor. The only thing that gave him some rush was remembering everything he couldn't forget—his hands against Evan's, his words, his gentle touches that traced Evan's. And even though these reminiscing still shoved pins through his throat, he had to do it to make himself feel. It was like laying down a container of ice for too long, making his body numb, and the only thing that could make him feel was sprawling on the container for a much longer time. It was an addiction that would lead to death.

He had developed a habit of staring at the sun directly, long enough that when he blinked, he'd have bright spots on his vision. He always did that, because the afterimages were always something he could morph into Jon's face, just in case he was starting to forget his beautiful features, too.

Evan sighed. He was feeling drowsiness tugging his eyelids down, and for some reason, he still tried to fight them. But a little later on, he surrendered and fully closed them, the vibrant colors of the umbrellas still running on the other side of his lids.

Pink. Lavender. Army Green. Blue. Black. Blinding white. Brown. A kaleidoskopic display of colors. Then it went to blue again. Blue once more. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue.

Evan opened his eyes and outside the car window, there was a large blue flame that soared in the wind alongside their car, like a kite pulled too hard that sent it diving dangerously low on the ground, its flame was the color of water.

It was bright but only for a while. The fire was diminishing.

And as the blaze died, it gave way to an image of a soaring body of a person. At first, Evan thought he stared too much into the sun this time that he could make the image turn, gaze deeply into his eyes, and say in a whisper, "My Evan."

Until the image settled a hand on Evan's cheek.

_And I felt him—just one touch from him and I remember the way he would squeeze his eyes shut whenever he laughed, the way his long legs would drive me crazy as he walked ahead, the way he would snarl when he was angry at me. It all comes back to me like a sun ready to thaw the walls around me._

_When I sense his thumb brushing the underside of my eye, like he always did, I know I found my perch again, and it feels like all my prayers being granted to me all at once._

Evan laughed for the first time in four years. 

 


End file.
